


Solavellan Tarot Challenge

by SidheLives



Series: WolfHunt Side Works [4]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Solavellan, Tarot, Tarot Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 22,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25027936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidheLives/pseuds/SidheLives
Summary: Prompts based on the Tarot's Major Arcana from the Facebook Group "May the Dread Wolf Take Us" Solavellan Tarot Art Challenge
Relationships: Dorian Pavus & Cassandra Pentaghast, Female Lavellan & Cassandra Pentaghast, Female Lavellan & Dorian Pavus, Female Lavellan/Solas, Iron Bull & Lavellan, Lavellan & Cassandra Pentaghast, Lavellan & Dorian Pavus, Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Solas & Varric Tethras, The Iron Bull & Varric Tethras
Series: WolfHunt Side Works [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835539
Comments: 30
Kudos: 21





	1. The Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: New beginnings, Leap of Faith, Enthusiasm, Innocence, Spontaneity.  
> Reversed: Naivety, Risk Taking, Distraction, Stupidity, Recklessness

"The Herald is awake!" The woman's voice was frantic and breathy as she ran through Haven towards the Chantry. "The Herald of Andraste is awake!" Soldiers and townsfolk stalled in their tasks as they registered her words, eyes moving to the cabin where the former prisoner had lain for the past several days, unable to be roused. Solas watched with interest as they shuffled closer to the building, faces slack with anticipation, speaking to each other in low, hushed tones. The sudden shift from enmity to adoration for the woman troubled him; the religious fervor with which they gathered around her place of rest being equal to the violence with which they had assaulted the Chantry after her initial retrieval. He slowly moved to a better vantage point, eager to see how the so-called Herald herself would react to the throngs of devotees who so zealously awaited her emergence.

He didn't have to wait long.

The door slowly began to open, and as if on cue, those watching dropped to their knees, heads piously bowed. The door swung wide, the late afternoon sun catching her bright auburn hair like fire and creating a halo of light around her head. Solas raised an eyebrow. The image was righteous, and he had no doubt that for those who witnessed it, it would confirm what their blind faith had already decided about the elven woman. He was more interested in her expression. Her brows pulled low in confusion and trepidation as the door opened, then snapping up in shock at the bowing crowds which surrounded her. She stared at them in disbelief, stepping back into the doorway, one hand instinctively reaching behind her back for a staff she did not have, then fluttering aimlessly at her hip. Solas waited for the initial shock to wear off, for her to come to grips with the reality she now found herself in and act accordingly. She took another step back, and for a moment Solas was sure she would dash back inside and slam the door. She pulled nervously on the fingers of one hand, eyes widening further as they moved across those in the crowd, chest heaving with barely subdued panic. 

_ She’s terrified. _

The realization surprised Solas, and he acknowledged that his expectations of the woman arrogantly descending into the crowd drunk on vindication was disparaging and based on his low opinion of the Dalish. He silently chided himself for allowing his prejudice to cloud his observations. Even subtracting his bias, the anxiety in the woman's body language was incongruent with the confident mage he had fought beside on the mountain, and Solas found himself grudgingly intrigued.  _ Athim _ . He reminded himself. The woman’s name was Athim. Solas suppressed a chuckle at the irony.

Seeming to gather herself, shoulders pulling back and hands curling into fists, Athim guardedly began to walk between the throngs of ardent worshipers. She wasn’t looking at them anymore, her attention set resolutely on her path, and she moved with the tense rigidity of someone expecting an ambush. She was doing well, and while Solas could see a tremor in her gait and, as she drew closer, the whitened knuckles of her hands, he expected that she would pass and continue to the Chantry without further incident.

“That’s her. That’s the Herald of Andraste.” The hushed voice came from somewhere in front of Solas and he knew immediately that Athim heard it. She froze midstep, even the labored rise and fall of her chest appearing to stall. He was close enough to see her pupils dilate in comprehension, mouth involuntarily falling open in a silent gasp. It took a great amount of effort for her to put her foot down and continue her march through the crowd. It was no more than a stutter in her walk, a moment that could have been missed in the blink of an eye, but Solas had seen it. The recognition of what they thought she was, and the abject horror that fact had instilled within her. Putting a hand to his chin, a piqued smile pulling at one corner of his lips, Solas watched her back as she continued up through Haven until buildings and people obscured her from sight.

The Herald was not what he had expected.


	2. The Magician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Willpower, Desire, Skill, Concentration, Manifestation  
> Reversed: Manipulation, Cunning, Trickery, Illusion, Deception

With the Breach closed, the atmosphere of Haven had lifted to celebratory levels. Bonfires were built up and instruments had emerged from people's packs, carried in hopeful silence until such a joyous occasion compelled their retrieval. Solas stood, as usual, apart from the festivities, observing the dancing and carousing of the town. They had earned this revelry, for them the fight was over. His own, he knew, was still beginning. While he was pleased with Athim's results, the sealed sky did not return the orb to him, nor the power of the Anchor. He sighed heavily, rolling his shoulders to stave off the headache he felt blooming at the base of his skull. Approaching footsteps altered him to Varric’s presence before the dwarf appeared beside him, he had a distinctive gait which Solas recognised.

“Enjoying the festivities, Master Tethras?” His practiced neutral tone gave away nothing of the turmoil rolling within his mind.

"Not as much as you clearly are. I’m going to need to ask you to quiet it down." Varric said seriously, only a glimmer of laughter in his eye betraying his stoic expression.

His face was so severe, brows pulled low over narrowed eyes, lips curled into a disapproving sneer, that Solas couldn't suppress a bark of laughter. "That was quite convincing."

Varric grinned proudly. "I practiced the whole way over. I don't know how you and Blackwall can manage looking so grumpy all the time."

"It takes more than a few minutes of practice.” Solas replied with a muted grin.

Varric laughed. "No shit. I've known enough of you broody bastards to know it's a skill you have to be born with.

"Oh?" Solas cocked his head to one side with interest, clasping his hands loosely behind his back. "How many of us  _ broody bastards _ have you known?"

“Just off the top of my head? Let me see,” Varric put a hand to his chin in thought. “You, Blackwall, the Seeker counts  _ obviously _ , Carver, Fenris, and Anders. You know, the broody asshole who brooded so hard it started this whole mess.” He crossed his arms with finality.

Solas chuckled. "That is quite a few. At this stage you must be an expert."

Varric echoed the elf's chuckle. "I'd say so."

They lapsed into silence, watching the dancers twirl around the large fire near the center of Haven. Solas felt he could hear the gears of Varric's mind turning in time with the dancers. 

"So, why are you still here, Chuckles?" Varric's tone was lighthearted, as usual, but Solas stiffened slightly and glanced at the man wearily out of the corner of his eye. The dwarf had a more clever mind than his prattle let on, and Solas had observed several instances of him using seemingly simple lines of inquiry to suss out more than the answers intended to be given. It was a ploy he needed to be careful not to play into. "Breech is closed now. The world is safe. I figured you’d disappear before we got back to Haven.”

“I could ask the same of you. I have heard you bemoan the destruction in Kirkwall, expressing your desire to return and assist in it's reconstruction." He looked down at the man with shrewd eyes. "What now prevents you from doing so?"

Varric shrugged, physically brushing off the question. "I get invested in people. My people back home are sorted and safe for now, but I'm not so sure about these ones.  _ You _ are avoiding the question."

"Perhaps I am also not sure that the world is yet safe." Solas responded vaguely. He saw Varric's mouth open, the incredulous narrowing of his eyes foreshadowing a statement of doubt, but he didn’t get a chance to voice it as alarm bells along the hills began to ring out. As panic enveloped the town, Varric disbelieingly met Solas’s eyes. In response he grabbed his staff from where it leaned against the wall and pushed down the stairs to locate Athim. “As I said.”


	3. The High Priestess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Unconscious, Intuition, Mystery, Spirituality, Higher Power  
> Reversed: Repressed Intuition, Hidden Motives, Superficiality, Confusion, Cognitive Dissonance

"Do you think yourself like Andraste, Inquisitor Lavellan?" Vivienne's eyes flashed like the glint of a concealed blade as she turned them on the elf.

Athim knew the question was posed to put her ill at ease. Vivenne, still playing The Great Game even among the Inquisition. Not that her tactics were necessary, as Athim was already off balance. Unlike the Lady of Iron she was not used to the prodding hands of a tailor encircling her form with measuring tapes and fabrics. The fact that they had all been required to strip to their underthings for the process certainly didn't help. Her only solace was the fact that Cassandra seemed equally uncomfortable with the proceedings.  _ This cursed ball better be worth it _ , she thought bitterly as she crossed her arms over her exposed stomach, tensely gripping her own elbows. "What do you mean?"

"The whispers cannot have escaped your  _ impressive _ ears. The way people talk about you as if you are Our Lady's second coming." The Orlesian's smile gleamed like that of a fox, the barely disguised insult sliding from her lips like oil and making Athim flinch.

"People can say and think what they wish, that doesn't make it true." She couldn't meet Vivienne's piercing gaze, her attention instead bouncing erratically between the woman's face and the stone paraquet floor.

"That isn't exactly an answer, is it my dear?" Vivienne said condescending, looking down on Athim through heavy lashes.

"What, may I ask, is the point you are trying to make, Vivienne?" Cassandra asked brusquely, sneering at the woman.

"I only wish to hear our unparalleled leader's opinion of herself. She certainly has no trouble making her political opinions known." Her sharp eyes turned to the Seeker.

"As opposed to you, who keeps her beliefs so closely held? Don't make me laugh." Even without armor Cassandra was a formidable presence.

"You'll find my opinions regarding my own person are just as well stated."

It couldn't be more clear that Vivienne had completely dismissed Athim. The woman's body language was entirely focused on Cassandra, deciding that the elf was no longer worthy of her attention. Indignation flared up inside her, sharp and hot, balling her hands to fists. "They are not opinions." Though quiet, there was a hardness in her voice which caught the enchanter's attention.

"Oh, it seems she  _ can _ speak for herself. You were so quick to jump to her defense, Cassandra, that I wasn't sure." Vivienne's smile was genial but her voice dripped with mockery. "What was that my dear?"

"Valuing freedom and the lives of mages are not opinions." Athim pushed her voice louder, the challenge in Vivienne's eyes bolstering her resolve.

"And what of the lives of all those who will suffer at their hands, hmm? Are they worth less than your precious mages?" She confidently settled her hands on her hips.

"You can't have it both ways Vivienne. You cannot on one hand claim the atrocities committed against mages throughout circle towers all across Thedas are uncommon flukes because they do not match your own experience while on the other insisting you are a rare, controlled mage in a sea of susceptible weak willed mages. While your experiences are uncommon, you are most certainly not." Athim surprised herself with her boldness, the words pouring from her lips with ease. 

Vivienne drew herself up, her pleasant mask contorting with displeasure. "I am common?" She released a bark of laughter. "I would have thought stooping to insults beneath the  _ blessed _ Herald."

Athim ignored her petty attack, thrusting a finger at the woman as she took a step forward. "Whether I am or I am not like Andraste is for others to debate. I will not waste time venerating myself while death lurks at the corner of my vision. I am the leader of the Inquisition. If you wish to continue using  _ my _ organization to further your own political machinations you should remember that." She was not blind. She could see the way Vivienne had used her position within the Inquisition to build trust and forge alliances which would benefit her once Corypheus was defeated. The woman was the most dangerous abomination of pride Athim had ever encountered, no possession required.

Something changed in Vivienne's eyes at Athim's inflamed proclamation. Her words burning the contempt out of her expression, leaving behind something vaguely similar to respect. "As you say,  _ Inquisitor _ ." Without another word she scooped her clothing up and, head held high, removed herself from the room.

Athim watched her go, expression steely. As the door closed behind her the elf deflated, sighing wearily.  _ That could have gone better. _ She was relieved it was over, but was disappointed that she had allowed Vivienne to get under her skin. 

Behind her, Athim heard Cassandra chuckle. "I have never seen The Lady of Iron flee with her tail between her legs before.

Athim sighed again, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. "That was a disaster."

" _ That _ was perfection." Cassandra countered.

Athim spun to face her, confusion coloring her features. "How? I should not be threatening my allies at slight provocations."

"Madame Vivienne's presence is a slight provocation.  _ That _ was an act of war, which you decisively quelled." She gave Athim a firm, approving nod. "I cannot say she will not toy with you again, Orlesians are too much like cats who see only a world of mice, but she will do so more cautiously going forward."

Athim blinked, a sheepishly proud smile beginning to form on her lips. "You really think so?"

"I know so. Vivienne is not one to give up having the last word. You have impressed her, or intimidated her. Either way, it is a victory you have seized from her grasp. You should threaten people more often, you're very good at it." 

Her words made Athim swell with pride, much like she had when Deshanna had been unexpectedly pleased with the progress of her studies. "Thank you Cass."

"It is the truth." She began to redress, the tailor having finished and disappeared from the room at some point during the excitement. "If Josephine thinks she can force me to wear a gown to this Orlesian farce, I shall scream."

Athim laughed, pulling her own clothing back on. "You would look lovely."

Cassandra made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. "I must return to my training. I will see you later." She went for the door, then paused in thought and half turned back to gaze at the elven woman. "You know, you are very much like Andraste. She chose her Herald well." Then she was gone. Athim felt both proud and humbled, but no less disquieted, by the comparison. She was not Andraste, she was just Athim, and she  _ had _ to tell Dorian what had happened.


	4. The Empress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Sensuality, Fertility, Nurturing, Creativity, Beauty, Abundance  
> Reverse: Insecurity, Overbearing, Negligence, Lack of Growth, Lack of Progress

The sound of the door slamming and a body falling up the stairs announced Dorian's arrival. Athim hopped to her feet from where she had been sitting cross legged on the ground, and promptly tripped sideways, almost landing on Cassandra.

" _ Ir abelas _ ." She giggled as Cassandra pushed her back to her feet, her rosy cheeks a mirror of the elf's.

"You're drunk," the Seeker pointed out unnecessarily, words twinged with laughter.

"That makes two of us—" Another thud on the stairs cut Athim off and set her giggling again. "Or three rather, since Dorian is back." She wobbled to the stairs and met Dorian as he reached the landing, a bottle of wine in each hand and a third tucked under his arm.

"The mission was an absolute success, despite the perilous ascent to your quarters. Those stairs are likely to kill a man someday." Dorian was teetering slightly, his usual roguish grin amplified by alcohol.

Athim slid the bottle out from under his arm. "As long as it's not today." She hooked her free arm around his elbow and led him back to the foot of the bed where Cassandra lounged, plopping back to the mattress and pulling Dorian with her.

"Now, where were we?" He chuckled, handing a bottle to Cassandra who promptly removed the cork with her teeth before spitting it across the room.

"Athim was resisting telling us about her romantic interludes." She raised a suggestive eyebrow.

"Ah yes," Dorian uncorked his bottle with a simple spell and took a long drink before continuing, a lascivious gleam in his eye. "So, Athim?"

Athim groaned. "I'd hoped you'd both forgotten." She held out her bottle towards Dorian who uncorked it for her. "It's not that exciting really." A flush crept up her cheeks. They had been hinting and nudging for details about her and Solas all night, just before the wine ran out they had devolved to borderline interrogation.

"You're the only one of us getting any. Don't be selfish. Let us live vicariously through you." Dorian laughed.

She chuckled uncomfortably in response. "Well, not really…"

"What?" Cassandra sharply leaned forward, wine sloshing from her bottle. 

Beside her Dorian choked on the swig of wine he had been taking. Recovering, he stared at her. "Excuse me?"

Looking between their aghast faces, Athim flushed harder, even the tips of her pointed ears turning crimson. "We haven't, uh, done…  _ that _ ."

"You're joking. Tell me you're joking."

"Dorian, be nice. If Athim isn't ready, you as her friend should support her." Cassandra smiled sympathetically at the elf who seemed to shrink into herself in response.

Dorian cast the seeker a patronizing look. "If you think Athim not being ready is the problem then you're not paying attention, Cass."

Athim shrunk further as they both looked at her again, questions in their slightly hazy eyes. "I don't very much want to discuss it." She said in what she hoped was a resolute tone, then began drinking from her bottle. Perhaps if she was lucky she would pass out and be free from this conversation.

"What are you doing together in this huge, frankly gawdy bed if not having sex?" He used a palm to gesture around them at Athim's lavish Orlesian bed and she glowered at him. When she had heard the Skyhold rumor mill buzzing that Solas had started spending the night in her chambers she suspected the leak had come from Dorian. No one paid the apostate enough attention to notice on their own.

"Sleeping, Dori. You know, the intended purpose of the thing?" She was shocked when Cassandra snorted sarcastically.

"Does he know you want to? You do want to, yes?" Cassandra probed, pragmatic even when inebriated.

"Yes I want to! Maker and Creators yes!" Athim blurted, then bit her tongue in embarrassment as the other two chuckled at her. "I think he knows? I mean I haven't said it, but I've… dropped hints."

Cassandra shook her head. "Thinking he knows is not enough. Trust me, men are idiots. Men who are mages even moreso."

Dorian nodded emphatically. "She is completely right. We're oblivious fools, every one of us."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Nerves forgotten, Athim looked pleadingly between her two friends. "I can't just be all 'oh, hullo Solas, lovely day today, by the way let's have sex."

"I mean, you could." Dorian sniggered. "That line would absolutely work on me."

Cassandra made a sound of disgust in the back of her throat. "You are disgraceful."

"And you are a romantic." He rolled his eyes. "Have you met the man? If it's not related to spirits or the Fade he's absolutely clueless!"

"He's still a  _ man _ , Dorian."

"She said she's given hints and it didn't work!"

"Have you met  _ her _ ? How good do you imagine those hints were?" Cassandra caught Athim's outraged glare out of the corner of her eye. "No offense of course."

"Well… what kind of hints  _ should _ I be giving?" As offended as she was, Athim couldn't deny Cassandra had a point. She was painfully awkward and anxious to a fault. Her fumbling attempts at seduction could have easily been misconstrued as nothing more than her usual stumbling.

"Lingerie." Dorian responded quickly.

Cassandra scoffed. "Sleep naked."

"Oh, that is better. And undress slowly, where he can see you of course."

"With many lingering touches." Cassandra added with a nod.

"Both to yourself and him." Dorian winked.

Athim's face felt as red and as hot as a summer sunset. "O—oh." She stammered. The thought of doing such a thing making her nearly vibrate with embarrassment.

"If that doesn't work you'll have to take more drastic measures." Dorian told her seriously.

"Candles and rose petals." Cassandra offered dreamily, eyes distant.

It was Dorian's turn to scoff. "That's what  _ you _ want." He focused on Athim, the alcohol making his eyes shimmer. "What you do is wait until you're lying together in the dark, then slide your hand down his body and take hold of hi—"

"Couldn't I just talk to him?" Athim hastily cut him off, unable to bear anymore. "Tell him how I feel, how I love him, and want to be closer to him?" She forced an earnest smile. The evening had somehow becoming the most uncomfortable experience of her life.

Cassandra and Dorian stared at her for a moment with drink clouded eyes, looked at each other, and burst into laughter. Athim scowled at them both, genuinely wondering suddenly why they were her friends at all, as they regained control of themselves.

"I suppose that is one way to handle it, yes." Dorian wiped his wet eyes with one hand.

"I daresay you didn't need us to come up with such a simple solution." Cassandra smirked at her.

"Now, finish that wine and we'll discuss technique." Dorian winked, teeth gleaming in a wicked smile. 

Athim shoved him, hard, and he gracelessly tumbled off the side of the bed with a shout.

"Dorian." Cassandra's voice was pinched with laughter. "I think that means no."


	5. The Emperor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Stability, Protection, Authority, Practicality, Discipline  
> Reversed: Tyrant, Domineering, Rigid, Stubborn, Recklessness

Solas watched Abelas recede from the Well chamber, his expression pensive. He had not thought to find others of his ilk in this muted world. The thought made his eyes momentarily flash to Athim, who stood beside him watching the devoted servant of Mythal depart, her expression a strange mix of sorrow and hope. He wondered how many other hidden treasures lay buried and stifled by the Veil.

"You'll note the intact Eluvian," Morrigan, single minded in her desires, drew Athim's attention. "I was correct on that count, at least."

With a last lingering glance at Abelas's back, the Dalish turned to the witch. "Is it still a threat? Can Corypheus still use it to travel the Fade?"

"You recall when I took you through my Eluvian, I said each required a key? The Well  _ is _ the key. Take its power, and Mythal's last Eluvian will be of no more use to Corypheus than glass." She paused and Athim raised her eyebrows inquisitively. "I did not expect the Well to feel so… hungry."

Athim's eyebrows pulled down in unease as she studied Morrigan's enraptured face. "Seems like that should be a concern."

"Knowledge begets a hunger for more." Examining the covetous look in the witch's eyes, Solas was unsure if she was referring to the Well or herself. With what appeared to be a great force of effort Morrigan tore her eyes from the pool to focus on Athim. "I am willing to pay the price the Well demands. I am also the best suited to use it's knowledge in your service."

Solas was not surprised by her sudden insistence nor her desirous tone. He wondered, not for the first time, if she truly had not known of the Well's presence in this place which she had, by her own admission, previously investigated. Perhaps, like Corypheus, the Well had been her goal all along. "Or more likely, to your own ends." He made no attempt to disguise the suspicion in his voice. It was no secret that he had never trusted her, but contrary to what she believed, it was not due to concern over her motives. Knowledge was dangerous, and she held far more than he was comfortable with.

Morrigan glared at him. "What would you know of my "ends," elf?"

"You are a glutton drooling at the sight of a feast. You cannot be trusted." It was possible Mythal's Well held some knowledge of him, if not explicitly, then in a way which combined with Morrigan's breadth of knowledge might reveal who, and what he was. The possibility was disturbing.

Dismissing his comments with a wave, Morrigan turned back to Athim who was looking between the two of them wearily, as if expecting a fight. "Of those present, I alone have the training to make use of this. Let me drink, Inquisitor." She implored.

Athim's eyes tightened, lips pulling down into a sharp frown. ""You alone"? This is  _ my _ heritage!"

Morrigan's face softened, and she held out a placating hand to the Inquisitor. "I have studied the deepest lore. I have delved into mysteries of which you could only dream." She rationalized. "Can you honestly tell me there is anyone better suited?"

Athim's eyes went to Solas and he tensed, knowing what was coming. "What about you, Solas?" Her eyes, so open and generous, not knowing what she truly offered, pained him.

"No. Do not ask me again." His response was sharp, sharper than intended and he cursed himself as he saw the flinch of confusion in her eyes. 

She dropped her gaze to the floor, her right hand gripping her staff tighter. When she looked again at Morrigan her eyes had hardened to solid Amber, flashing in the light. "I would be." The determination in her voice sent a chill through Solas's heart.  _ She would do this, _ he realized.  _ She would take this power without understanding the risks if it meant stopping Corypheus. _ Her brave, altruistic heart, which he loved so dearly, would doom her if he let it.

"You lead the Inquisition. This is not a risk you can take. I have the best chance of making use of the Well… for everyone. Let me drink." Morrigan continued to push, but the harsh lines drawn upon her face by resolve did not soften.

"You're not concerned about the price?" Athim pushed back. ""Bound forever to the will of Mythal"?"

Morrigan smirked. "Bound forever to the will of a dead god? It seems an empty warning. Perhaps a compulsion yet remains, who can say otherwise? I do not fear it, even so."

"What's to stop you from taking the power of the Well and leaving?" Athim's aggression surprised Solas, and distressed him. His eyes drifted over the still pool beyond her. He could hear it, the way it called. He knew it called to her blood the way it did his, even if she could not hear it with her ears.

Morrigan appeared genuinely offended by the suggestion. "My  _ word _ . If that seems sufficient, Corypheus threatens all—even myself. He must be stopped."

"And who stops  _ you _ ?" Athim retorted, voice so low it was almost threatening.

"I, Inquisitor, seek neither immortality nor your life." Morrigan snapped.

"Inquisitor." Solas's voice cut through the tension between the women like a blade. Athim turned sharply to look at him, eyes still heated. He held out his hand to her. "May I have a word?" Slowly, the lines on her face softened slightly and she gave a curt nod, taking his hand.

Crossing her arms, Morrigan sighed in annoyance. "Corypheus still approaches. We do not have time for dalliances."

"I only ask a moment," Solas gave her a hard look to which she responded with a dark glare. He ignored this look and pulled Athim in a circle around him, placing his own body between her and the Well. " _ Vhenan _ . You cannot do this." Leaning into her, Solas kept his voice hushed.

She blinked at him, eyes widening in surprise. "She wants this for herself. She is not worthy. If you will not drink of the Well then it must be me."

"Listen to yourself, Athim. These are not your words. What care have you ever had for Mythal? Why do you now decry others for unworthiness?" He cupped one of her cheeks with his hand, thumb gently caressing her skin.

Athim took a deep breath, letting her eyes drift closed. They opened again sharply, the heat gone and replaced with whispers of fear. "The Well. I can… feel it."

"Yes." His voice was a sigh of relief and he gently squeezed her hand, feeling the familiar tingle of the mark she bore.

"Why does it call  _ me _ ? Why make me want it?"

"Morrigan was not wrong. Knowledge seeks knowledge, and as an elf you are familiar."  _ It is not lying to leave out the truth _ , he reminded himself as guilt slid through his mind. It was enough truth for now.

"But… you don't trust her. Once Corypheus is defeated I could use this to help Thedas, to help the elves. She will use it for her own purposes. You know she will."

That was Athim, untouched by the Well's influence. Always so willing to sacrifice herself for the good of others. "Someone must claim the knowledge of the  _ vir'abelasan _ . But it would change you, you would no longer be your own master." He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers. "I would not see you become a slave." He whispered the words, voice wavering with withheld emotion. The constant reminder of her vallaslin was already hard for him to bear. If she were to become bound to the will of an evanuris, he suspected it might break him. He may have dreaded Morrigan's knowledge and what the Well could show her, but it was nothing compared to the possibility of losing Athim to Mythal.

Athim pulled back to meet his gaze, those honey orbs which always brimmed with compassion and curiosity, studying him. He allowed her to see his fear, his weakness, because he knew nothing else could deter her.

"Enough deliberation. Give me your decision." Morrigan's voice harshly broke through the silence surrounding them, but Athim made no move to comply.

She smiled softly at him, making his heart tighten in his chest, then she placed a gentle kiss, just to the right of his lips. " _ Te'gela, Vhenan. _ "

Keeping hold of Solas's hand, Athim stepped around him to face Morrigan and her glower. "It's yours."

Shock colored the witch's face, widened eyes moving from Athim to Solas's face. He gave her a sardonic nod and smirk, both of which she returned after a moment of recovery, then she turned to the Well, ravenous eyes drinking it in as she slowly began to step into the water.

Solas and Athim watched her, hand in hand. " _ Ma serranas sul harthal, Vhenan _ " he said softly.

" _ Ma serranas sul amal'em. _ " Her response sent a shiver of shame sliding down his spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish Tanslations:
> 
> Te'gela = Do not fear/ Do not be afraid  
> Ma serranas sul harthal = Thank you for listening  
> Ma serranas sul amal'em = Thank you for protecting me


	6. The Hierophant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Tradition, Conformity, Education, Knowledge, Beliefs  
> Reversed: Rebellion, Unconventionality, Non-conformity, New Methods, Ignorance

"Good morning," Solas was taking his usual morning walk when he noticed Varric warming his hands beside the fire at Haven’s center. The mountain air was brisk, and as always a light fresh layer of snow blanketed the grounds of the town. Already the clangs and crashes of soldiers training could be heard outside the gates, but within the walls things were still quiet. "You're up early, Master Tethras."

Varric nodded to him in greeting. "Morning. I would say the same to you, but I suspect you're always up at this miserable hour."

Solas chuckled. "I am, in fact." The dwarf grunted, stretching sluggishly. Solas turned his body slightly away. “I could remove myself if it is too early for such interaction.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it Chuckles. I’m already awake, and talking is the next best thing to sleeping.” He smirked cheekily.

“In that case I have a question for you. I’m curious as to what you know of the Dalish.” Solas tucked his arms behind his back, grasping his own wrist.

Varric raised an intrigued eyebrow at him. “You’re asking _me_ about the Dalish? You know the Herald _is_ Dalish right? Wouldn’t she be the better person to ask?”

“Let us say I am looking for an unbiased opinion.” Solas responded nonchalantly. It was not entirely untrue. He wondered how much Athim’s upbringing within the Dalish affected her view of their cultures and stories, more than that though he wanted to know the experience of those outside the very insular society and their interactions with it. His own had been, to say the least, unpleasant, and he had allowed it to color his interactions with the reluctant Herald, and he had come to the realization that his experiences with the Dalish may have been atypical.

“I know a Dalish girl back in Kirkwall, well former Dalish I suppose would be the right phrase. She grew up Dalish, was first to the Keeper and everything, but she left them to live in Kirkwall’s alienage. That’s how I met her.” Varric shrugged. “She joined Hawke and me on some… escapades.”

“I remember mentions of her in your book. Merrill, yes?”

“I still can’t believe you’ve read my books, but yeah, that’s her.” He crossed his arms and settled into a comfortable stance, preparing for what he clearly believed would be a long conversation.

“She is not prominently featured in the work. What is she like?”

“Honestly? She’s a lot like our Herald. Quiet, curious, awkward to a fault.” He shrugged. “Biggest difference is the belief bit. Merrill was an adamant defender of her people, despite what happened to her. Herald doesn’t talk about her clan much.”

“What do you mean “what happened to her”?” Solas tipped his head curiously. Merrill’s reason for leaving her clan was never addressed within _The Tale of the Champion_.

Varric sighed wearily. “Her clan didn’t much approve of her making deals with demons to try and repair this ancient elven mirror she found, so she left.”

Solas’s eyebrows snapped up in surprise. “A mirror? What sort of mirror?”

“That is so like you to skip right over the demon part and directly to the mirror.” Varric chuckled. "She called it an _Eluvian_. Said it was used by the ancient elves for communication or some such. I guess the one she had was in the Brecilian Forest and was tainted, apparently it killed two of her friends back during the Blight."

His mind running like a wolf in hunt, Solas did his best to keep his expression impassive. _An Eluvian tainted with the blight?_ It was a fascinating revelation. "You said she tried to repair it with the help of a demon?"

"Yeah, and her clan turned her out for it. Said the knowledge wasn’t worth the risk. She disagreed.” A shadow passed over the dwarf’s eyes. “The story didn’t really have a happy ending.”

Solas knew it would be unwise to push further on the subject. He stored the information away for later use. One never knew when an elf with the tenacity to ostracize herself from her people for ancient magics may come in handy. This also confirmed his initial suspicions of the Dalish. Athim and this Merrill were indeed outliers of a people who would rather wallow in their own ignorance than listen to truths which challenged their traditions. “I am sorry to bring up old sorrows.”

“Nah, it’s fine. If I avoided topics which had sad endings I’d never tell any stories.” He smiled ruefully.

“Did she share any Dalish Legends with you?” Solas deftly changed the subject. “I would be interested to hear how Fereldan Dalish tales differ from those Athim knows, being from the Free Marshes.”

“I only remember the one about the Dread Wolf and how he tricked all the gods away from the world. Probably because of how often she cursed about him.” Varric appeared grateful for the change in topic, grinning at the recollection of Merrill’s presumably filthy mouth, making Solas laugh.

“I never liked that story.” Athim’s voice startled them both as she seemed to materialize out of the air beside them. She had clearly just woken up, sleep still blurring her amber eyes, and she had either neglected to comb her hair, or had done an abysmal job, as it stuck out at all angles from her head. Solas stifled a laugh, pressing his lips tightly together, but Varric had no such propriety, a burst of laughter erupting from his lips at the sight of her.

"Good morning to you too, oh illustrious Herald." He put a hand to his side as his eruption continued. Athim tilted her head curiously and Solas cleared his throat to catch her attention. When she looked at him he gestured towards his head, prompting her to reach up to her own and feel the bedraggled state of it. Her cheeks flushed and she hastily rubbed it down, which did little to ease it’s wildness.

“Good Morning, Athim. What were you saying?” Solas ignored Varric as he struggled to get control of his amusement, focusing on the young woman instead. She looked lovely, even tousled from sleep. Solas quickly pushed the observation from his mind, as he had found himself doing with more and more frequency. He could not lose focus due to a pretty face, his goals were too important.

“Oh, the story of Fen’Harel tricking the gods and forgotten ones away. I never cared for it.” She shrugged before beginning to stretch her arms.

“Why so?” Solas probed, telling himself that the smile on his lips was a genial choice, and not the result of her presence.

“It doesn’t make sense to me. What did the Dread Wolf gain by doing it? The legends say he could walk safely among both groups, both trusting him and seeing him as one of their own. Seems like a pretty appealing position to be in, if you ask me. I like creation stories better. They still don’t make sense, but at least someone benefits in the end.” As Solas had come to expect, Athim made the observation without any emotional attachment. She didn’t see the legends as anything more than stories, and he found the perspective refreshing.

“Perhaps the people benefited. I imagine it would be quite exhausting to be caught in the middle of endless conflict between the gods and the forgotten ones.” Solas bit his tongue, the words had slipped out in a moment of weakness. Athim blinked at him quizzically, the wheels of her mind turning over his words.

“Ignore him, Herald. Chuckles is nothing but an overanalyzing egghead. Stories don’t _need_ to make sense. I find they’re better the less sense they make.” Varric joked, having finally regained his composure. Solas breathed a silent sigh of relief as Athim’s perceptive gaze shifted away from him to look sidelong at Varric.

She rolled her eyes. “Remind me never to read any of your books.” 


	7. The Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Love, Relationships, Choices, Balance, Unity  
> Reversed: Imbalance, Conflict, Detachment, Bad Choices, Indecision

_ Did that just happen? _

Athim brought her hand hesitantly to her face, worried that any sudden movement might

disrupt what was surely an improbable dream.

_ "It means have not forgotten the kiss." _

Her heart was thrumming in her ears like thunder. Her hand shook as her fingertips gently brushed over her lips, the feel of her skin so much more abrasive than the way his lips had felt against them.

_ "Don't go." _

_ "It would be better in the long run, but losing you…" _

Eyelids fluttering closed with a breathy sigh, she let the memory of the kiss wash over her: His arms wrapped around her, pulling her body tightly against his, the way the force of his passion had bent her backwards, the cloying, suffocating, euphoric feeling of his tongue against hers. A shiver spun down her back. She couldn’t dream something so flawless.

_ “Ar lath, ma vhenan.” _

Four words.

Solas had said hundreds of thousands of words to her in the months since they had met, but all of them combined could not match those four. She had seen wonders and horrors, lived through miracles and disasters, traveled through time and the Fade, but nothing she had experienced moved her like the man she had grown to care for so dearly saying that he loved her.

_ He loved her. _

**_He loved her_ ** .

Her stunned calm fell away to be replaced with cacophonous elation. Shrieking laughter pealed from her throat and she bounced about the room, the balls of her feet hardly touching the floor, her arms swinging wildly. She ran back to the balcony and, leaning over the balustrade, let out a celebratory howl, like that of a wolf announcing a successful hunt. Taking heaving breaths she leaned back, cheeks aching from her wide set smile.

She had to tell Dorian.

Setting off down the stairs, taking them two steps at a time, she endeavored to level her breathing and control the excited vibrations which still ran through her entire body. She stopped before the door which led to Skyhold’s great hall and shook her arms out, stomping her feet, hoping to remove the last of her giddy energy. If possible she wished to avoid making a scene among the assorted nobles and dignitaries who were constantly milling about the keep, and it was impossible for her to leave her chambers without attracting attention. The moment she passed through the door she felt eyes on her. Plastering on her approachable Inquisitor smile, Athim pushed through the room, nodding to those who greeted her and circuitously making her way to the door which led directly up to the library. She’d have to lure Dorian out onto the ramparts to speak to him alone, even then it would only be a matter of time before everyone from kitchen staff to her advisors would be buzzing about the development. It was a little like being back with her clan. No one could keep a secret for long.

Athim's mind was so wrapped up in these thoughts that she would have missed Varric's wave entirely if it weren't for The Iron Bull's imposing form beside him. She waved back and the dwarf responded by gesturing for her to join them. She glanced at the door to the library, then sighed and made her way along the hall to the men. Dorian wasn't going anywhere, she reasoned, and appearances must be maintained.

"Hullo Varric, Bull. Enjoying your free time?"

"Seems we're not the only ones. Where are you headed with that spring in your step?" Varric laughed, using his tankard to gesture at her legs.

"If you're looking for Solas, I just spotted him heading to the rotunda." There was a knowing gleam in Bull's eye and a smirk on his lips as he said this and Athim did her best to quell the flush she felt rising along the crests of her cheeks. Of course Bull would have seen Solas leaving her chambers, he was too well trained to let anything escape his notice, not even Solas, who had the uncanny ability to avoid most people’s attention.

“I was going to visit Dorian.” She shrugged nonchalantly, voice sounding unusually high, even to her.

Bull's smirk spread. "Any special reason?"

If the Breach had granted Athim the power to kill with her will alone, The Iron Bull would have perished in that moment. Varric was glancing between her spreading blush and his satisfied grin with a keen interest. She widened her eyes slightly at Bull, her expression begging him to stop talking. “Just checking in. I worry that surrounded by all those books he might hurt himself, sprain his brain or something.”

“A good idea.” Bull crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Make sure to look out for yourself too. You could go  _ head over heels _ on those stairs. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

Athim crossed her arms, eyes growing sharp over her pleasant smile. It didn’t take Ben Hassrath training to see that he didn’t fully trust Solas: the way he watched him with a suspicious eye and subtly probed him for information. “I’m a grown woman, Bull. If I want to… take the stairs, then that’s my choice, regardless of how dangerous you think they are.”

Varric raised one hand, expression puzzled. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing.” Bull and Athim answered simultaneously. The dwarf threw up his hands in a show of defeat and mouthed "okay" before settling more comfortably into his chair and watching the proceedings with interest.

“I know you are, Boss. No argument here.” He leaned forward again, elbows resting on his knees, his one eye focused on her with an intensity that unsettled her. "I may not like the stairs, but that doesn’t mean they’re not good for you. They are. Just keep your eyes open. That's all I'm saying.”

Athim's face softened with surprise.  _ Bull thought Solas was good for her _ . "I'll be fine." She assured him. She did appreciate his concern, if not his methods. Athim didn't know what it was like to have a protective father, but she imagined it was something like this.

"I'm sure you will, Boss." He nodded. "You happy?"

"I am." She assured him, her smile lighting up.

"Then that's what matters right now." 

"Thanks, Bull." He shrugged as if to say it was nothing. Athim sighed and gestured with her thumb behind her. "I should probably get to Dorian before he asphyxiates on too much Southern literature. Nice to see you Varric. Enjoy your afternoon you two." 

"Yeah, nice chat." Varric quipped.

With a final wave Athim turned and began to slide back through the crowds towards the library. Behind her she heard Varric's eager voice addressing Bull. "So, you gonna tell me what that was all about?"

Bull laughed. "No."


	8. The Chariot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Success, Ambition, Determination, Self-Discipline, Focus  
> Reversed: Forceful, No Direction, Powerless, Aggression, Obstacles

The trip back to Skyhold from Adamant Fortress felt far longer than the trip there. Athim was distant the whole trip, barely speaking outside of issuing directions as required by her position as Inquisitor. She kept her shoulders back and her chin high among the troops, and that was enough for them. They saw their resolute leader remaining strong because they did not know her well enough to notice the way her smile frayed at the edges, the way her companions could. Nearly all of her friends had approached him inquiring on her state of mind, and he could offer them little reassurances. Athim had become adept at making difficult decisions over the years since the Breach had forced her into a position of leadership, bearing the weight of the consequences of those choices with grace.

But this decision had been different.

Solas could see the guilt hanging from her shoulders like a leaden shall. She was sluggish, eating little as if food turned to ash on her tongue, and even simple pleasures such as Varric telling tall tales by the fire could not raise a smile on her lips. She shrugged off all physical affection he attempted to offer her, even in the privacy of their tent, and when he tried speaking to her about what had happened in the Fade, she brushed off his attempts with half hearted "I'm fine"s and once, tellingly "I have to be fine." She tossed and turned in her sleep, sometimes crying out familiar names, sometimes just crying. He sought her out in the Fade as they slept, hoping to, at the least, soothe her dreams, but she had become strong enough that she pushed him out, locking him away from her sleeping self as much as she did when awake. The fact that she could unsettled him. Solas had rarely before in his life felt so helpless as he did watching the woman he loved suffer, and being unable to ease her pain.

When they at last crested the final peak of their journey and Skyhold became visible she smiled for the first time since they departed Adamant. Without a word, Athim raced ahead of the traveling party, her hart becoming a streak of golden red across the snow. When the rest of them finally reached the gates she was nowhere to be found, her heart already stabled and cleaned. Leaving his own mount with Dennet's stable hands, Solas headed purposefully up into the Keep. He found the door to Athim’s chambers locked, unusual for her, but it took only a slight application of magic to turn back the bolt and slip inside. Above him, he could hear her sobbing, and his heart reverberated with the sound. Moving silently he climbed the stairs, her gasping, choking, wails growing louder with every step. She lay face down on the bed, still wearing her road stained traveling clothes, her hands balled into fists which plaintively slammed into the mattress on either side of her head.

“ _ Vhenan. _ ” She didn’t respond to his call, but her flailing stilled and he could hear her sniffing back further tears. Slowly he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and when she didn’t pull away, proceeded to gather her into his arms. She let him, arms automatically encircling his back, and buried her face in the crook of his neck, the sobs beginning to leak once again from her throat. Solas held her so tightly he was afraid he might hurt her, but she clung to him just as tightly, her back rising and falling erratically with her cries. Then she was saying something between gasps, so muffled that he couldn't make it out. "Athim, what is it?"

She pulled back from him slightly and took a shuddering breath. "It sh—should have b—been me." She choked and sputtered through the words.

Solas looked into her eyes, brows drawn in confusion, her words not making sense, then realization dawned. He had misread her guilt. It wasn’t just that she had made the choice of who would live and who would die, it was that they had died  _ for _ her. That’s what made it different from the Templars or Gaspard. “Someone had to close the Rift,  _ Vhenan _ . You could not have made that sacrifice.”

She pushed away from him, off of the bed to begin pacing. “I know that! Don’t you think I know that?” She sniffed, pulling back more sobs by force of will. “It always has to be me, chosen of blasted Andraste!” She covered her face with her hands and her shoulders shook. "Not even that. Just a fool in the wrong place."

Solas struggled for words, for anything that would help. “ _ Ma’ea esem sul min vir. _ ”

She peeked over her hands at him. “Was I? I don’t know anymore.” Her shoulders slumped, eyes still wet with unshed tears, but the sobs had finally receded.

“I believe you were.” His voice was firm, strengthened by his genuine faith. Athim had accomplished the impossible, and she had done it over and over again.

She smiled softly, the expression touched with sadness, and came back to him, curling into his lap again. He stroked her hair as he held her, rocking her gently and placing soft kisses on her crown. After a few minutes of silence she took a deep steadying breath. “He shouldn’t have had to die for me. I don’t want anyone else dying for me.”

He hesitated, knowing what she wanted him to say. But he couldn't. “I know.” Solas could not give her the promise she wanted, not even to ease her guilt, and deep down he hated himself for it.

" _ It abelas, Vhenan." _

"For what?"

"For not letting you be there for me. I just—" she slid her arms around his neck. "I shouldn't have shut you out."

" _ Tel'ea abelas. _ You needed time."

"Can we go to bed now?"

"Of course."

He lay awake listening to her sleep, fingers tracing soft circles on her bare back. She didn't toss or turn or cry. She seemed peaceful. Looking at her face in the faint moonlight he felt the pang of a deep, pervasive guilt. He had the sudden mad desire to wake her, to tell her the truth, to tell her everything. Maybe understanding why this had happened to her would ease her burden. He had begun to reach for her before his good sense stopped him.  _ Making her carry my burdens as well will not help her with what is to come. _

His movement seemed to rouse her slightly, and she caught his hand in hers, eyes still half lidded with sleep. “Solas? What is it?”

“Nothing,  _ ma Vhenan _ . Sleep.” He squeezed her hand gently. He waited until he heard her breathing fall back into its usual pattern then allowed himself to close his eyes at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish Translations:
> 
> Na’ea esem sul min vir: You were chosen for this path  
> Ir abelas: I am sorry  
> Tel’ea abelas: Do not be sorry


	9. Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Courage, Bravery, Confidence, Compassion, Inner Power  
> Reversed: Self-Doubt, Weakness, Inadequacy, Cowardice, Forcefulness

Cassandra was in the courtyard training, as usual, the powerful strikes and thrusts of her blade decimating the straw dummy. Athim leaned on the nearby tree and watched, once again marveling at the power contained in the woman's relatively small frame. She stood for a few minutes before Cassandra noticed her while executing an impressive spinning slash which took the dummy's head clean off.

Breathing heavily, she sheathed her sword and turned to the elf. “How long have you been watching me?”

Athim grinned. “Long enough to know that dummy never stood a chance. I don’t like to interrupt you while you’re working, if I spook you it’s liable to be my head next time.” She gestured with one bare foot at the ball of straw which had rolled to a stop near where Cassandra stood.

With a breathy chuckle and a soft shake of her head the Seeker let her hands rest on her hips, giving her lungs room to expand as she recovered from her exercises. “What can I do for you, my friend?”

“I heard a rumor upon returning from the Winter Palace.” Athim’s eyes sparkled. “Well, less a rumor and more the shouts of a frustrated Revered Mother, but you know what I mean.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows dropped, mouth twisting into a grimace as a familiar sound of disgust slipped from her lips. She crossed her arms and averted her eyes from Athim’s enthusiastic smile. “Mere conjecture. If anything this call for the hands of Justinia is evidence of desperation on the part of the Clerics.”

Athim’s mouth fell open into a little “o” of surprise. “You’re not even a little excited? I imagine Leliana is bounding around the rookery like a little girl.”

"Perhaps you should go celebrate with her." She gave Athim a withering glance.

"Oh don't be like that." Athim pushed away from the tree.

“Be like what?” she sounded annoyed, but her grimace softened.

“Being your severe, humble self.” 

Cassandra laughed derisively. “I am not  _ severe _ . And you are in no position to lecture me on being humble, Miss Herald of Andraste.”

Athim waved her off dismissively. “ _ Yes _ , you are, and you'd be the perfect Divine, Cass. If you stopped scoffing at the idea of it you'd absolutely agree."

She scoffed. “Let Leliana have it. I look terrible in hats.”

“You’re doing it again.” Athim crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows pointedly. “What would Leliana do with the mantle? Realistically?”

Cassandra thought about it for a moment. “She would tear everything down. Start afresh.”

“Do you really think that’s what the chantry and the faithful need right now?” Athim asked smugly, knowing the woman’s answer even before she asked.

She sighed in defeat. "No. I do not."

"And if one of the remaining limp wristed lesser clerics gets appointed?"

"What exactly is your point?" Cassandra avoided the question, her scowl threatening to return.

“That it should be you. You are exactly what the chantry needs right now and you know it."

“I— don’t think that’s necessarily true.” Cassandra stammered slightly, surprise and awkwardness mingling in her face, washing away the annoyance.

“You’re the bravest, strongest, most dedicated person I’ve ever met. You care about people, actually care. Your faith is grounded in reality. You understand that mages are people and the problems that led to their rebellion. You respect integrity and don't give a damn about money or praise or flattery. You fight with everything you are for justice. I can't think of a person  _ better _ suited for the job." Athim was fairly certain she had never seen Cassandra blush before, but as she finished her speech she noticed the woman’s ears were bright red.

“I  _ suppose _ I will consider it." She finally responded after a long pause.

Athim beamed. "And I will make certain they consider you."

Cassandra frowned. "Athim, I do not approve of you using your position as Inquisitor to manipulate the College of Clerics."

"The Inquisition saved the life of Empress Celene and likely the Empire itself. I think I've earned the right to make my opinion known, if nothing else." She shrugged cheekily, making Cassandra chuckle.

"Speaking of which," the woman raised an intrigued eyebrow, adopting a more casual stance. "Where did you disappear to at the ball? You abandoned me amid a sea of pompous, overstuffed Orlesian masks. Not even Josie seemed to know where you’d gone.”

Casting her eyes down, Athim unconsciously tugged on her fingertips. “Oh, I just promised someone a dance.”

“ _ Someone _ .” Cassandra laughed. “So tell me, is Solas a good dancer?”

She tried to suppress her giddy smile, pressing her lips tightly together, but the moment she opened her mouth to speak it spread across her face like the light of dawn. “He is. Completely made up for me being absolutely useless.”

Cassandra laughed again. “You must tell me everything, then I will forgive you for deserting me.”

“Deal.”


	10. The Hermit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Introspection, Contemplation, Withdrawal, Solitude, Search for Self  
> Reversed: Loneliness, Isolation, Recluse, Rejection, Returning to Society

Solas had long ago become accustomed to being alone. 

As Fen'Harel he had set himself apart, resisting the desire to become close to anyone, and those around him had obliged by placing him high upon an untouchable pedestal. Then had come the Veil and the blissful silence of Uthenera. Milenia had passed as he slept, unknowing. Upon waking he was again alone, set apart by what he was: a leader among followers, a dreamer surrounded by sleepers, a wolf amongst blind sheep. It was a comfortable solitude. Not pleasant, but familiar. He became what the Dalish called him. He became the Dread Wolf. Lying in wait, skirting the edges of their world and their dreams, plotting silently and biding his time until the moment came to strike. He had known what he needed to do. He knew it with the single-mindedness that only the immortal can possess. Then the explosion, the Breach, and the undying magister had altered his trajectory. So many variables he couldn't have accounted for, each one spiralling off into infinite new and unpredictable complications. He had been on his own for so long Solas could not have predicted how he would respond to suddenly having companions. Peers who were unafraid to ask him his opinion, disagree with him, challenge him. Over years at their side he had unavoidably developed relationships with them, ranging from suspicious respect to something approaching friendship, but all tempered with the knowledge that they were fleeting and that he would soon enough become their enemy.

He looked down at the woman who slept peacefully beside him, her sun kissed skin painted with the marks of Falon'Din, russet hair tousled by sleep, his mark casting a gentle green glow across her chest. It was difficult to think of her as being simply a complication. She was an anomaly and a threat, but she had slowly slithered into his mind and nested there, without even intending it. This Dalish mage who longed for knowledge, who listened to his lessons without prejudice or malice, who loved solitude and magic in equal parts. When he looked into her liquid amber eyes he forgot himself, his goals, everything but being with her. When she was not present he felt, for the first time in his conscious memory, lonesome. It was as if she had bored a hole in his existence that nothing else would fill, and he didn’t know how to stop it once it had begun. A disastrous misstep.

She stirred, perhaps subconsciously feeling his eyes on her, and he used one hand to smooth her hair away from her face. Her eyes opened slightly, and seeing him looking down at her, she smiled. “ _ Vhenan. Lea’vune tua ma lea. _ ” The words were half-sleeping nonsense and he couldn’t help smiling back. 

“ _ Ma Vhenan,” _ he responded softly, not wishing to break the spell of her semi conscious state. She would not remember this conversation upon waking, and knowing this Solas could not resist indulging himself. “ _ Ma mya em sastmahn? _ ”

" _ Sastmahn. Nar’ar i emma’ma bell’annar. Ar shivasa. _ ” She mumbled sleepily, the words so freely given that it shocked him, his heart tightening with the now familiar dread intermingled with adoration.

“ _ Bell’annar. _ ” He repeated softly, stroking her cheek gently with the tips of his fingers. “ _ Ara nas’falon _ .” The word slipped from his lips reflexively, and as it did he knew it to be true. He felt the stirrings of horror in the corners of his mind at the realization. His life and hers had been inexorably altered by their chance meeting, and it could not be undone. She had taught him to be lonely, stolen from him his desire for solitude as surely as she had taken his heart. Despite this, as he kissed her soft lips and pulled her close to him, he knew he would not trade it for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish Translations:
> 
> Lea’vune tua ma lea: The moonlight makes you shine/glow  
> Ma mya em sastmahn?: Would you follow me anywhere?  
> Sastmahn. Nar’ar i emma’ma bell’annar. Ar shivasa: Anywhere. I am yours and you are mine forever. I swear it. (Note: Shivasa specifically refers to an oath that is either forever, or will end in your death)  
> Bell’annar. Ara nas’falon: Forever. My soul mate. (Note: does not automatically denote a romantic or sexual relationship. It instead denotes a relationship where two people are so incredibly close, so incredibly devoted to each other and incredibly inseparable, that it is as if they share a soul. You only ever have one nas’falon)


	11. The Wheel of Fortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Change, Fate, Decisive Moments, Luck, Unexpected Events  
> Reversed: Bad Luck, Lack of Control, Clinging to control, Unwelcome Changes, Delays

The ground bucked and shuddered beneath them as they ran, desperately racing back to the bulk of Adamant. Then the stone under their feet was suddenly replaced by empty air. Solas's stomach leapt into his throat at the abrupt drop, then he was falling, the disorienting combination of spinning uncontrollably and colliding with debris from the collapse making it hard to see anything. There was a flash of crimson below him and he focused on it,  _ Athim _ , her hair flying wildly in the wind. He could not reach her, he knew, but Solas struggled against the natural forces in who's grip he languished, reaching for her with both hands, mind desperately screaming  _ not like this, please not like this. _

A burst of green light blinded him as the mark on her hand crackled to electric life, and the sky below them opened. Solas had enough time to register what was happening, what was about to happen, then they were through. It was like driving into cool water, but it was pure magic. It poured down his throat and soaked into his skin, chasing away his panic. His descent slowed as he subconsciously altered the Fade around him, and he came to rest on his feet, the thumps of the others crashing to the ground echoing around him. Solas stared around him in shock. He was in the Fade,  _ physically _ . The feeling of it sent him ricocheting through enveloping memories from his distant past and for a moment he forgot where and who he was. It only took a moment, but it rattled him. He pushed past those around him who were groaning and struggling to their feet, eyes searching for the flash of red that marked Athim. He found her, also pushing to her feet but looking relatively unharmed. " _ Ma Vhenan _ ," he offered her an arm which she gratefully took. "Are you alright?" His voice shook slightly and her eyes, full of concern sought his.

"I am, the Fade seemed to… break my fall as it were. And you?" She squeezed his arm where she held it.

"Much the same. I had feared the worst." He cupped her cheek in his hand, surprising her. He was seldom physically affectionate towards her in public, but he needed to feel her skin, to know she was really there and whole.

"I know. Me too…." She stumbled, eyes flitting around them at the scenery. "I didn't mean to open the Rift, I didn't even know it was there." It was clear from her expression that it troubled her. 

It troubled Solas as well, but for different reasons. She had ripped open the Veil without an explicit force of will. She was either extremely lucky or incredibly powerful, and neither would have surprised him. He stroked her cheek softly with his thumb. "Perhaps your fear calling across the veil combined with the Anchor allowed it to happen. While I would love to theorize on the event I'm afraid this may not be the best time."

Meeting his eyes with a slight, amused smile, Athim nodded resolutely and turned away from him. "Everyone alright?" Once again she was the Inquisitor, firm and unshakeable even in the Fade. 


	12. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Justice, Consequence, Accountability, Truth, Integrity  
> Reversed: Injustice, Retribution, Dishonesty, Corruption, Unfairness

_ The truth. Tell her the truth. _

He had repeated it like a mantra as they had travelled from Skyhold to Crestwood. Every time she smiled at him, brushed her hand against his, or kissed his lips it brought waves of guilt boiling through his chest. Athim trusted him implicitly, offering her whole undiluted self to him in every sense of the word. She trusted him with more than he trusted himself to take. But she was blind. The man she knew was only a piece of who he was, and he could not truly be hers until she saw all of him, even those parts he desperately wished to keep from her.

All too soon for Solas they arrived.  _ Tell her the truth _ , the words echoed in his mind as he helped her dismount, becoming a chant matching his rhythmic footfalls as they walked through the cave hand in hand. It reverberated through him, underlying their light conversation as they reached the luminous pool he had chosen for this moment.

"Then what I must tell you… The truth…"

Time seemed to stop as he looked into her eyes. There was no suspicion held within their golden depths, only a vague curiosity and keen interest.  _ What happens when you tell her? _ A dark whisper came from the back of his mind. The possible outcomes of his actions fanned through his mind like the hastily turned pages of a book. 

_ She hates you. For what you are, for lying to her, for what you must do to make the world right. She would stand against you _ . And she could. If any mortal could it would be her. She was more powerful than she knew, possibly more powerful than he even realized, and she had his heart. The thought that he might have to destroy her chilled him to the bone. Solas knew that he would not survive such an action. It would mean the end of him as well.

_ She accepts you. She loves the man you are despite everything. She stands with you. _ And watches as he destroys everything she knows, as he commits atrocities beyond her imaginings. Her gentle heart souring or breaking as he becomes the monster her people always made him out to be. Alive but hollow, worse than dead.

_ This tale doesn't have a happy ending. _

He could not destroy her with the truth, even if withholding it ate him alive. She was gazing at him with open eager eyes, and he had to tell her something, some smaller truth.

"Your face. The vallaslin." He knew it would hurt her to know. She wore her vallaslin with pride, as the honor she had been raised to believe it was, but he had nothing else to offer. It hurt, a sharp stab in his chest, the way her face fell to hopelessness learning the agonizing truth of the lie painted in crimson streaks along her skin. Then the offer to remove it, to wash it from her, which he expected her to decline. Her calm acceptance brought a smile to his lips even as it twisted that blade of pain. 

Casting the spell sent a wave of nostalgia through Solas. How many countless times had he cast it before? Hundreds, thousands of times, but it had never felt so intimate. He watched the vallaslin evaporate from her features, her face below them familiar, yet entirely new to him. " _ Ar lasa mala revas.  _ You are free _. _ " Looking at her he felt breathless. He wouldn't have thought it possible for her to be more perfect. Her features undiluted by the cursed marks, which always pulled his mind unwilling into the past, was like the dawn breaking after a life lived wholy in darkness. "You are so beautiful."

She smiled, a delicate, porcelain smile that lit up her entire face. He kissed her, unable to do anything else in that moment, pulling her tightly against him. She wrapped her arms around him and for a moment it was hard to distinguish where he ended and she began. 

He pulled back suddenly and examined her face again as a devastating reality began to settle over him. The amber pools of her eyes were like the abyss he had been slowly inching towards every day since he had met her. He now found himself on the edge, looking down at a perilous chasm from which there was no return. Falling would threaten everything he sought to accomplish, and would surely destroy them both. If he could not tell her the truth, he knew with a sudden clarity, he could not be with her. If he remained so he would fall, and he could not allow that.

"And I am sorry. I distracted you from your duty. It will never happen again."

He felt his heart break as the words left his lips and saw his agony reflected in her own. Her confusion, shock, and anger rolled over him, her proclamations of devotion and desperate pleas ripping jagged scars into his very essence. As tears poured down her cheeks and her fists beat against his chest he knew he deserved far worse, for no punishment could do justice to his crime. He watched her flee the glade, flee  _ him _ , and forced back the near inescapable urge to run after her, to call out, to beg forgiveness, hold her in his arms and kiss away the abhorrent tears he had caused. 

She would not forgive him, Solas knew, but she could rise above it. Her anger would make it easier for her when he had to abandon the Inquisition.

Most importantly, she would live. 

Even if he did not.


	13. The Hanged Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Sacrifice, Waiting, Uncertainty, Lack of Direction, Perspective  
> Reversed: Stalling, Disinterest, Stagnation, Standstill, Apathy

As Athim slowly regained consciousness the only thing she was aware of was the cold. She could feel shivers racking her body before the hard ground beneath her back or the throbbing pain at the base of her skull. She couldn't seem to open her eyes and felt disoriented, any memory of where she was or how she had gotten there seemingly non-existent. Reflexively, she rolled to her side, pulling her knees to her chest to conserve her body heat. Hearing came next, but other than her own labored breathing there was nothing to hear. Memories began to trickle into her brain like water as she lay there. An attack on Haven, the trebuchets firing, chaos overtaking the town,  _ Corypheus _ . Her eyes snapped open as the memory became whole. With a great force of effort she pushed herself upright, groaning and clutching at the back of her head. She paused in her movements, a sudden upheaval of her stomach threatening to upturn it's contents. Breathing low to quell her nausea, she gently examined her own body. The fact that she was alive at all came as a great shock to her. When she had fired the final trebuchet volley and dove for cover she had not genuinely expected to survive the impending avalanche. Other than the pain in her head, likely caused by her sudden arrival on the ground, she did not seem to have sustained any major injuries. She ached all over and would have some very nasty bruises, but no broken bones or bleeding. The pain in her head also accounted for her unconsciousness and the disorientation she had felt upon waking. She had undoubtedly suffered a concussion, not that she could do anything about it in her current situation.

All around her was ice and hard packed snow and rough stone walls. A cave. She looked up to where she must have fallen from and saw only more of the same. The avalanche must have sealed whatever opening she had emerged from. It was still difficult to think, but Athim felt sure she'd heard Sister Leliana mention a network of caves and underground tunnels which existed below Haven. She hoped desperately that they connected with the path Commander Cullen and the others had taken. If it let out a different direction than they had fled it was unlikely she would find them before she froze to death. That thought finally motivated her to action. Cautiously, she pushed herself to her feet, acutely aware that further sudden movements could send her retching.  _ When was the last time I ate? _ She thought dumbly. She didn't even know how long she had been unconscious, the content of her stomach was a negligible fact at this point. On her feet at last, Athim took another moment to examine the surroundings and gather her bearings. The cave seemed to have a single point of ingress, a darkened tunnel leading out almost directly ahead of her. Having located her path there was nothing left to do but push forward. Doing so, she came to the belated realization that she had no staff, nor any weapon of any kind.

She did hope the wildlife would be friendly.

In the dying light of the day the refugees of the Inquisition set up camp. The people moved sluggishly, sounds and actions dampened by snow and an oppressive aura of fear. They had seen their homes destroyed, watched their friends and compatriots dying, and witnessed a nightmarish monster come to life. What was more, their appointed beacon of hope, the Herald of Andraste, who had selflessly stayed behind to cover their flight, had not yet rejoined them. Even Solas could not escape the malaise. His head felt heavy with an unending stream of unknowns.  _ How had the magister survived the blast which leveled the Temple of Sacred Ashes? If such an explosion did not destroy him, what could? How could Solas reclaim his orb from such a creature? What happened if he could not? Was Athim alive? _ His mind kept coming back to the last question, over and over, frustrating him. He attempted to tell himself that his preoccupation with the woman was entirely to do with the power bestowed upon her by the mark, if she were lost in the avalanche that claimed Haven, so too was that power, but he knew it was not true. He had come to care for her, he looked forward to their conversations and lessons, and he could not deny he was concerned that she had not survived. He, like everyone else, kept one eye on the hill over which they had come. Hoping beyond hope that she would appear.

_ Keep moving _ , she told herself.  _ Keep moving or you will die. _ She could no longer feel her feet, the tips of her fingers had begun to turn blue, and her face had long ago gone completely numb. She didn’t know how long she had been walking, or when it had started snowing, but her visibility had been reduced to only a few feet, she was pushing through knee high drifts, and ice crystals were blowing into her eyes. With no direction, and running out of hope, Athim focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed for her but the next step.

She would not lie down and die.

Sometime later, it may have been a few minutes or a few hours, something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She had no idea what it was, just a vague shape, but it was not snow so her heart leapt. Changing direction she pushed towards it, the wind cutting into the collar of her armor and chilling down her spine.  _ A firepit. _ Athim found she couldn’t breathe. It was not buried in snow despite the flurries still pouring from the sky, which meant it was recent. Without thinking she crouched down and thrust her hand into the pit, pulling it back immediately with a sharp hiss of pain. It was still hot. She sprang to her feet, almost toppling over into the snow. Hot embers meant very recent. A sudden burst of energy propelled her up the hill, foot over foot, no thought in her head but reaching the crest. As she reached it however she felt her strength give out. Her knees buckled under her and she collapsed face first into the snow, a tantalizing glimpse of what could have been fires or could have been hallucinations at the edges of her vision, then darkness overtook her and she no longer felt the cold.

“There! It’s her!” Cullen’s voice broke through the stillness of the night. Solas’s head snapped up and he was on his feet in an instant, the book he had been reading falling forgotten into the snow. He moved to the edge of the tent to look up the hill. It  _ was  _ her. Cullen and Cassandra had her arms wrapped around their necks as they carried her down the hill.

“Bring her here.” He called out to them. Cullen gave him a curt nod and altered their trajectory. Solas hastily pushed aside the blankets on a cot so she could be laid down. As they did so his eyes scanned her, quickly assessing her condition. It was not good. She was unconscious and shivering uncontrollably. Her fingers and lips had started to turn blue. He quickly reached for her legs, releasing the catches on her boots.

“What are you doing?” Cassandra’s voice was sharp with concern for the woman.

“Look at her fingers, Seeker.” Solas met her troubled eyes with his steady ones. “What do you suppose her toes look like?” Cassandra took a breath and nodded before proceeding to assist him with Athim’s other boot.

“What do you need?” Cullen’s eyes flicked between Solas and the unconscious Herald.

Solas's attention was on the woman's feet, peeling off her socks it was clear her toes were in worse shape than her fingers. "Blankets. More blankets. We have to warm her up gently or she could lose sensation in her limbs forever.” Cullen was gone in a flash and Solas turned his attention to Cassandra.

"We need to get all the metal and leather off of her. It's only holding the cold." The urgency he felt surprised Solas. Seeing Athim so vulnerable had woken something in him, and he felt compelled to make sure she was safe. It was a curious, unfamiliar feeling. As Cassandra worked on unbuckling and removing Athim's armor Solas began rubbing her ice cold feet. He tensely glanced up at her face as he massaged heat back into her flesh, and color returned to her skin. Her brow was furrowed, if in pain or at some fretful dream he couldn't be sure, but it troubled him.

“Help me hold her up so I can get her chestplate off.” Cassandra said, holding the woman’s shoulders. Solas quickly moved to sit beside Athim on the cot and the seeker lifted her so her chest leaned against his, arms draped around his shoulders. He had never been so physically close to her, he could feel her cool skin and the soft rise and fall of her chest against his, and the effect this proximity had was instantaneous. He had the sudden desire to hold her, to rock her back and forth until the lines on her brow disappeared and she could sleep peacefully. Instead he focused on gently holding her as Cassandra undid the buckles under her arms and pulled off the back of the armor, then carefully laid her back down. Armor removed the two quickly layered her in blankets, including those Cullen returned with, then Solas began massaging her hands the same way he had her feet.

“I will examine the Mark. Ensure the encounter with this Corypheus did not alter it in any way.” His eyes did not leave her face as he said this, but he saw Cullen and Cassandra’s nod in response out of the corner of his eye.

“Thank you, Solas.” Cassandra was looking at Athim’s face as well. “Thank the Maker that she returned.”

“Indeed.” Solas responded noncommittally. Cassandra and Cullen drifted away, returning to other duties.

He did not examine the Mark. He could feel that it remained the same, unaltered by Corypheus’s attempts to remove it. Instead he rubbed her hands until the tips of her fingers were pink again, slipping her arms back under the blankets as he finished and tucking them more tightly around her. Then he sat on the edge of the cot and just looked at her. Whatever had been troubling her sleep seemed to have moved on and she looked serene. Solas allowed himself to admit that she was lovely. She was also strong and compassionate, and curious, and intelligent and...

Delicately he reached out and brushed the hair from her face, his fingertip faintly caressing her skin.

“How is she?” Mother Giselle asked softly, entering the tent behind him. Solas pulled his hand quickly away from Athim’s face.

“She is better now. Warm, and sleeping peacefully.” He looked up at the woman. “Would you sit with her? It would be best if she had a friendly face to wake to.”

“Are you sure she would not prefer to wake to your face, Massere Solas?” Her warm smile was knowing and Solas abruptly stood, feeling color rising on his cheeks.

“I believe your calming presence would be most helpful after what she has been though.” He responded, attempting to sound detached and clinical.

Mother Giselle nodded, smile growing amused. “As you say. I will sit with her.”

“Thank you.” He ducked out of the tent into a fresh scattering of snow, which cooled the warmth of his already receding blush. He should have been more cautious, more guarded. He had been blind, pretending that the snatches of affection he felt for her were fleeting, convincing himself that they meant little in the long run, ignoring the signs until it was far too late. He should have anticipated the probable outcome. He glanced back over his shoulder to where Athim slept, Mother Giselle dutifully watching over her, and knew there was no way now to divert his course. He would have to carefully watch his steps going forward, or risk disaster.


	14. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Transformation, Endings, Change, Transition, Letting Go, Release  
> Reversed: Fear of Change, Repeating Negative Patterns, Resisting Change, Stagnancy, Decay

_ The Inquisitor _ .

She was the Inquisitor.

It was a strange word. It rolled around her mouth like wine, smooth and tart and liquid. Cassandra had said that she was given the title because she was already leading the Inquisition. It was odd, Athim had never felt like she was leading. She did what they needed her to do, what only she could do because of the mark on her hand. When she could she helped people, because they were suffering, or struggling. Wasn't that what anyone would have done in her position? She leaned on the railing outside the fortress' front doors looking over the courtyard. The space was bustling with activity; soldiers drilled, medics worked feverishly over those injured in the battle at Haven, and scouts ran everywhere. All of it, all of  _ them _ , were her responsibility now. The thought chilled her slightly.

"It will take some time for me to be accustomed to your new title, I think. I do hope you'll forgive the occasional slip." Solas stepped up beside her, his sudden appearance startling her slightly, making her tense momentarily like a ruffled bird. He moved so quietly.

"Don't be silly, Solas. I'd prefer if you continued to call me by my name. I'm still the same person." She glanced at him, his face was impassive as usual as he observed the courtyard.

"Are you? Titles can alter the way we see ourselves, which in turn alter the way we see and interact with the world." His steel grey eyes turned to her and she felt them cutting through her casual demeanor to see her insecurities. "I wonder about the woman you will become as Inquisitor."

Athim began tugging gently on her fingertips. "I'm worried." She said simply, looking back at the multitudes of people below them.

"Why?" Solas asked curiously.

"They're all trusting me to keep them safe, to keep the world safe, to make the right choices for everyone. So many lives placed into my hands. I don't think—" she cut herself off, and looked up at the clear sky, feeling the emotion creeping up her throat. She was not going to cry. Taking a deep breath to settle herself she went on. "I'm not worthy of the honor. I'm afraid I'll let them down."

"That is why you are the perfect choice." He sounded so matter of fact that Athim's were drawn to his face.

"That doesn't make sense."

He glanced over, eyes meeting hers. "Doesn't it? Imagine for a moment that power being handed to someone completely confident that they could handle every challenge, someone unconcerned with the weight of that responsibility. You will seek knowledgeable counsel where they would not. You will consider the lives your decisions will affect where they would not. You see your actions as a necessary duty where they might only see a platform for power. I can think of no one better suited for such a role."

"I suppose…" Athim released her fingers, the muscles in her back relaxing even as grateful tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

Solas set a single hand upon her shoulder, surprising Athim. She could not remember him ever touching her so casually before. "I believe you will rise to the challenge, Inquisitor Lavellan." As quickly as he appeared, Solas vanished back into the keep, not even giving her time to thank him. She looked over her shoulder to where he had gone, smiling gently. She didn't know how it was possible, but Solas always seemed to know the right thing to say.


	15. Temperance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Balance, Patience, Moderation, Calm, Tranquillity, Harmony, Serenity  
> Reversed: Imbalance, Excess, Extremes, Discord, Recklessness, Hastiness

Athim's thumbs delicately brushed the lobes of his ears and her fingertips curled around the back of his neck as she fervently pressed her lips to his. Half asleep, Solas kissed her back, arms automatically wrapping around her to pull her close. A shiver of excitement slid down his spine as her tongue caressed his bottom lip and he aquieced her unspoken request, parting his lips and relishing the sensation of her tongue sliding over his. She hooked one of her legs around him, pulling her hips sharply into his and he groaned into her mouth, his hands sliding down her back to massage the supple flesh of her ass, pulling her harder against himself. She gave a short, soft moan and rolled her hips against his hardness, the movement and sound inciting a growl low in his throat. Her breasts pressed tightly against his bare chest and he had the sudden desire to run his tongue over her sensuous skin. Still wrapped in the fog of sleep, no thought in his head besides how good her body felt against his, he rolled her onto her back, pushing up her thin chamise and stealing his lips from hers to seal them around one of her pert breasts. She gasped as his tongue flicked over her nipple, hands ardently grabbing at her shirt, back arching to try and pull it off over her head. Intermingled with the pleasurable noises spilling from Athim's mouth she released a small growl of frustration, and Solas lifted his head to see the shirt caught on her elbows as she struggled slightly in an attempt to detangle them. Solas smirked, a dark part of his mind overtaking him, and he took hold of the fabric in one hand, twisting it above her head. Athim made a sound of alarm, then his lips were against hers again muffling her moans as his free hand traced down her skin, sliding between her breasts, circling her belly button, brushing gently at the fabric of her smallclothes. Her hips bucked and she mewled, making him chuckle carnaly, low in his throat. He slipped his fingers under the cloth to slowly stroke her, and she rolled her hips against them. She was so wet that Solas gasped himself, biting at her bottom lip. She moaned, and it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. As he caressed her, he trailed biting kisses down her neck, each one drawing bubbling gasps and whimpers from her throat. He slid a finger inside her and she cried out his name, and the sound seemed to at last wake him fully.

_ What was he doing? How could he let himself lose control to such an extent? _

He pulled his hand back from her, releasing his hold on her arms, and sat up on his knees beside her. How many times had he thought about touching her in such a way, holding her, tasting her, or more? He had resisted, because he knew that in the long run it would hurt them both less to do so. His control had slipped, halfway between dreams and waking, and the shame of it clung to him.

“Solas?” Athim had managed to free herself from her tangled shirt and was propping herself up on her elbows, looking up at him with those soft, compassionate eyes, now filled with worry. “ _ Ma Vhenan. Ahn del?” _

“ _ Ir abelas, Vhenan. _ ” He could not look at her, eyes moving instead to the west where the sky was still dark despite the incoming dawn.

She sat up fully, getting to her own knees in order to wrap her arms around his neck to embrace him. “ _Te’telsila_ , Solas.”

He did not return the embrace, still not trusting himself to touch her, but he looked into her amber eyes. “You are not disappointed?”

“Not in you.  _ Ar isala ma, y’ar tel isala pala. _ ” She smiled gently at him and the expression only deepened his guilt. “I love you.  _ Ar ela melena _ .”

He did put his arms around her then, tucking her head under his chin and holding her like she was the only thing keeping him upright. He did not want her to see the anguish in his eyes at her words..  _ She could wait. _

“Let’s go back to bed.” her voice was muffled slightly against his chest.

“It is already dawn,” he responded flatly.

She shrugged in his arms. “The world can wait. I just want you to hold me."

“ _ Thuast ma isala _ .”

She pulled back enough to look in his eyes again, her smile so warm and untroubled that it began to undo the knot of remorse in his stomach. Letting her hand drift down to catch his, Athim lay back down on her side, pulling him down behind her. He let his body curl around her noting, not for the first time, how perfectly they fit together.  _ As if made for each other _ . Nuzzling backwards into his chest, Athim released a contented sigh and Solas felt a smile teasing along his own lips, her peaceful calm enveloping him as surely as he wrapped her in his arms. He did not deserve her, he knew. He did not deserve her patience and understanding, but she never stopped offering it.  _ Perhaps _ , whispered a sanguine corner of his mind,  _ she would be understanding of more than I ever imagined. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish Translations:
> 
> Ahn del?: What’s wrong?  
> Te’telsila: Do not worry  
> Ar isala ma, y'ar tel isala pala: I desire you, but I don’t need sex. (isala can mean both to desire sexually or to need/require)  
> Ar ela melena: I can wait  
> Thuast ma isala: Whatever you need


	16. The Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Oppression, Addiction, Obsession, Dependency, Excess, Powerlessness, Limitations  
> Reversed: Independence, Freedom, Revelation, Release, Reclaiming Power, Reclaiming Control

He could not escape her.

Solas woke with the scent of her hair clouding his mind. The amber glow of the sun at dusk was her eyes. He heard her laugh in the rivers he crossed. The touch of the Fade felt like the sweet caress of her hand.

He could not push her memory from his mind. Like a nettle, the harder he tried to not think about her the more tightly she wrapped around him. In everything he did her sweet whispers pervaded his thoughts. 

So he tried to slip secretly into her dreams, to just catch a glimpse of her, but found he could not. He sought her out in the Fade, but like mist in the light of dawn she had evaporated. 

His spies brought only murmurs. To ask for more would be to betray his Heart. But the Dread Wolf could not have a heart. A heart could be broken, and he could not let her be broken.

The Inquisitor had constant meetings with the Nobility of Thedas but was reclusive and spoke little. She continued to travel the land, sealing rifts and forcing demons back into the Fade. She did not visit Crestwood. Never staying in one place for long, when at Skyhold she spent her time in the curious circular chamber with the brilliantly painted walls.

Each of these facts sliced at Solas’s soul like a dull blade. He knew why she avoided Crestwood and why she slept in the rotunda. 

_ You were supposed to move on my love _ . 

_ You were supposed to bloom and live, not wither on the vine. _

It was because of him, and it twisted the blade which leaving her had thrust into his heart.

He just needed to destroy the Veil. Then he would be free.

It was not Uthenera that awaited him he knew, but true death.

It was that fact that kept him from running to her arms, that stilled him when in the depths of the night he dreamt of sweeping her away with him.

He had done nothing but bring her harm from the moment his Orb had touched her.

The least he could do was spare her his death.


	17. The Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Disaster, Destruction, Upheaval, Trauma, Sudden Change, Chaos  
> Reversed: Averting Disaster, Delaying the Inevitable, Resisting Change

The dust had begun to settle as Athim wearily pushed herself to her feet. Of course when Corypheus was defeated they would have come crashing to the ground, she should have anticipated that. Not that she could have done anything about it. None of her companions were immediately visible, but the smoke made it hard to see anything not directly in front of her face. She held up her left hand, the green glow of the Anchor providing enough slight illumination to find her way without tripping.

"Solas?" His name was the first one on her lips. She should be looking for the others as well, she knew, but as she picked her way through the rubble and destruction her thoughts went to his safety first.

She wasn't sure how she found him for he made no sound, kneeling on the stone before her, but the smog seemed to part before her earnest desire to find him, and there he was. "Solas?" She said his name again, not a call this time but a question. The forward curl of his shoulders and his down turned head indicating something was wrong. He didn't respond right away and she proceeded up to his shoulder, seeing at length what he morosely held in his quivering hands.

The orb. And it was shattered into pieces.

"The orb." He said, echoing her thoughts. His voice was so soft and broken that it brought memories of that awful night in Crestwood rushing back to fill Athim's mind. It was the only other time he had ever sounded so defeated.

"Are you sure?" Her voice shook slightly. "We could take the pieces, try to…"

"That would not recover what has been lost."

Her heart leapt into her throat. It was the most he had spoken to her in so long, she had become used to the painful, monosyllabic apathy he had been offering her. "I know you wanted the orb saved, I'm so sorry."

He shook a shaking breath. "It is not your fault." Slowly he set the pieces of the artifact down and pushed to his feet. He seemed somehow older, more weighed down as he turned to her, and his eyes were stormy, drowning in regret.

"There's more isn't there?" She breathed, feeling the unspoken fathoms his expression contained.

"It was not supposed to happen this way." His voice broke and the sound pressed at the pieces of her broken heart, crushing them to sand. She didn't understand what he meant, what he was saying, but she knew that she should. He reached out and gently pushed a lock of hair out of her face, his fingertips tenderly caressing her skin. "No matter what comes, I want you to know that what he had was real."

Her brows pulled together, mouth falling open in horror. "What do you mean, "No matter what comes"?" She could hear someone yelling her name, but it was as if it came from a great distance. Everything that was not Solas seemed to blur.

" _ Ar lath, ma Vhenan _ ." He whispered, leaning in to softly kiss her parted lips. " _ Sule bell'anar'is _ ."

She kissed him back, returning his featherlight touch. She wanted to kiss him harder, to pull him to her, she missed him so much, but he was like a startled halla and any sudden movement was likely to drive him off.

"Inquisitor! Athim?! Are you alive?" It was Cassandra's voice, and Athim did her best to ignore it as it broke through the fog around her mind. Just another few minutes with him, like this, that was all she wanted. Solas's lips pulled away from hers and she reflexively reached for him, body screaming for the feel of his touch to be returned, but he folded his arms and stepped away.

" _ Ir abelas _ ." He began to retreat and she took a shaking step towards him.

"What do you mean, Solas?" He would not meet her eyes. Her heart began to speed with fear. She took another step.

"Thank the Maker!" Cassandra cried out. "Did you not hear us calling for you? We feared the worst."

Athim took her eyes from Solas's anguished face for no more than a heartbeat as Cassandra ran up to her side, but it was enough. When she looked back, he was gone. She knew, suddenly and completely, that there was no use in chasing after him. 

Looking over the horizon where he had vanished she felt the remaining shards of her heart turn to ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of in game rehash, but I HATE this cut scene. Lavellan would not hear this bitch say "It was not supposed to happen this way" with that sad ass look on his face and just casually walk away from that shit. What the actual fuck BioWare. Even if you didn't romance him that line begs some fucking questions.
> 
> *Rant over*


	18. The Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Hope, Inspiration, Positivity, Faith, Renewal, Healing, Rejuvenation  
> Reversed: Hopelessness, Despair, Negativity, Lack of Faith, Despondent

He heard humming. The tune felt familiar, but he couldn't seem to place it. He was warm and comfortable, and had no memory of where he was or how he'd gotten there. He felt soft fingers on his arm, warm water, and a slight sting which made him wince. He opened his eyes and found Athim's brilliant smile awaiting him.

"You're awake." She sounded overjoyed. "It was a nasty bump you took, I was worried." He grunted and tried to sit up, but she put a hand to his chest, pushing him back. "Oh no you don't. I'm cleaning this cut on your arm and you are going to rest."

" _ Vhenan _ , please. I am fine." He responded, a small smile turning one corner of his mouth. She was so eager to care for him. How could he realistically refuse her?

"You are not fine." She said firmly, scooping up a small jar of salve which she delicately applied to the laceration on his bare upper arm. His chest was bare, he realized, and he wondered if it was her who had undressed him once they'd reached the camp or one of the others. "I mean, maybe you're fine, but I want to be sure." She wiped the excess salve from her fingers into her trousers and leaned down to plant a kiss directly into the tip of his nose.

He chuckled, then winced, the rumble of laughter making his head ache. "What hit me?" He asked, reaching up with his uninjured arm to rub at his temple.

"A giant." Athim had begun wrapping clean white gauze around his arm, being careful not to let it wind too tight. "You were so focused on the demons and the Rift that you didn't see it coming. None of us did. It's terrifying how quiet those things can be when they're so large." She tied off the end of the bandage and gave it a gentle pat. "I looked up and you were flying. I was scared you would hit a tree, but luckily you landed in a bush." She laughed.

He resisted the urge to laugh, knowing how it would affect the pain in his head, but smirked at her. "Did you defeat the mighty beast in my honor?" He caught her hand in his and caressed her skin softly with his thumb.

"Ha. Definitely not. Cass and Dorian held it off long enough that I could close the Rift, then she scooped you up like a sack of potatoes and we ran. Me and Dorian made fireworks to distract the giant so we could get away." She grinned madly at the memory.

"Cassandra Pentaghast carried me over her shoulder all the way back to camp with a giant on her heels?" Solas couldn't decide if he was more offended or impressed by the action.

Athim cackled. "More or less. It's not like Dorian or I could carry you and move that quickly. We all would have been giant food." She cocked her head to the side, a curious look coming over her face. "Do giants eat people I wonder? Anyway, you don't need to worry, I already thanked her for you, so no need for any awkwardness."

Despite her objections, Solas pushed himself into a sitting position and kissed her cheekbone, making the skin flush slightly. "Thank  _ you _ ."

"I didn't do anything, not really." She stammered, eyes dancing between him and the ground.

"You worried."

"Of course I worried, _ Vhenan _ ." She gave him a quick peck on the lips. "Now lie back down. You need to rest."

He did as he was told, settling back into the bedroll. "I would rest better, I think, with you in my arms."

"Cheeky." She smirked, swatting his chest playfully. Gathering up the salve and other items used to tend his wound, she pushed to her feet. "I'll be back. Your tea should be ready." She saw his sneer at the word. "Hush. It will help your head." She swept out of the tent. Solas watched after her, a contented smile on his lips.


	19. The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Illusion, Intuition, Uncertainty, Confusion, Complexity, Secrets, Unconscious  
> Reversed: Fear, Deception, Anxiety, Misunderstanding, Misinterpretation, Clarity, Understanding

_ This was a terrible idea. _

"This is a terrible idea,  _ Vhenan _ ."

Athim looked at him incredulously. "It is a wonderful idea. It's going to be fun! You missed the Wicked Grace game, I'm not letting you miss this too."

"Most of our companions merely tolerate my presence. You do not think that perhaps my joining this event will dampen the evening?" She dropped her eyebrows, a spark in her eye telling him that to argue any longer would be agonizing and fruitless. Instead he sighed in defeat. "Very well." Her face lit up and the joy her smile brought his heart made the proposal seem slightly more palatable. She had presented the engagement as simply a few drinks with friends, which on its own did not seem so bad. But when Solas heard which friends it would involve he had become less inclined. Dorian, The Iron Bull, Varric, and the threatening possibility that Sera might turn up. These were  _ not _ people who had a pint or two casually with friends. Solas would have to be weary.

Athim slammed the tavern's door wide open, startling a number of patrons. "Guess who's here!" She called, grabbing Solas's hand and dragging him through the room to an already filled table.

"You got chuckles to come?" Varric's eyes were wide with surprise.

Bull laughed low in his chest. "Oh this ought to be fun."

Dorian, in contrast to the others, seemed less than pleased. "Oh yes, because that's a word I'd use to describe Solas."

Athim slapped his shoulder. "Play nice." She tossed him a glare as she pulled up a pair of chairs. "Have a seat, Solas. I'll grab us drinks." She flashed that stunning smile again as he sat, then scurried away to the bar, leaving him alone.

Well, not exactly alone.

"So, Solas." Bull raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Finally done stalking the edges of the campfire and decided to join us?"

The predator metaphor set him on edge. Bull saw more than seemed possible for a man with only one eye. "Athim would not take no for an answer. I will attempt to intrude as little as possible."

Varric chuckled. "If you think she'll let you sit out when the games start up you have another thing coming."

Solas paled. "Games?"

Dorian, across from him, grinned mischievously. "Oh, she didn't tell you? It's game night."

Athim swept back to the table carrying two tankards which she set on the table before her and Solas before taking her seat. "So what are we playing tonight?"

" _ Vhenan _ ," Solas whispered into her ear, picking up the mug to cover the movement of his lips. "You did not mention there would be games."

She smirked. "Would you have agreed to come if I had?" She whispered back.

She made an excellent point.

"I vote truth or dare or never have I ever." Bull said, looking directly at Solas.

"I'm more in favor of the latter." Varric chimed in.

"You know how I love truth or dare, but I am aiming to get right pissed this evening so I agree with Varric." Dorian said as he refilled his cup with wine.

"Never have I ever it is." Athim decreed. She patted Solas's knee under the table. "You'll like this one, I promise."

Solas could promise he would not.

"You need a primer, Chuckles?" Varric asked.

"I'm familiar with the concept." Solas responded.

"I'll start!" Athim energetically offered. Solas watched the way she sparkled with joy, surrounded by the people she cared for, confident and safe in their friendship. He wished she could always be so, that he could give her that. He pushed the dark thoughts which undoubtedly lay at the end of that line of thinking away. Becoming broody would only make the evening less enjoyable for her. She brought a hand to her chin in thought. "Never have I ever owned more than one pair of shoes."

"I am already feeling personally attacked." Dorian said, lifting his glass to drink.

Varric chuckled, taking a drink and wiping his mouth. "Never have I ever wanted to have sex with someone at this table."

"That's a low blow right out of the gate Varric," Athim complained, blushing as she took a drink. Bull and Dorian drank. As Solas raised his own mug to his lips he saw Dorian raise his eyebrows at Athim and gesture with his head in Solas's direction with a significant look. He glanced at Athim out of the corner of his eye and saw her blush deepen, and he was unable to suppress a smug smirk. He knew Athim desired him, he wasn't blind after all, but to have her publicly admit to such a desire set a flame deep inside him. He laid a hand on her thigh and watched as a smile crept across her face as she placed hers on top of it.

"Never have I ever been a spy." Dorian looked pointedly at Bull as he said this.

"Isn't it against the rules to use things you know only apply to one per—" he stopped talking as both Athim drank. "Well fuck." Bull drank, never taking his eyes off Dorian. "Never have I ever been friends with a bloodmage."

"Didn't you just say…" Dorian began, but as Varric and Solas both took a drink he shrugged. "Objection rescinded I suppose."

"Your turn Solas." Athim's eyes sparkled.

"Hmm." He thoughtfully considered. There was a chance he could gain something from this game of theirs if he played along. "Never have I ever—"

"I want to play!" Sera appeared like a hurricane, squeezing onto the bench beside Varric.

"Sera, it's Solas's turn." Athim gave her a disapproving look.

"He's taking too long. Never have I ever touched a willy."

Solas shrugged and took a drink. Everyone stared wide-mouthed at him. Bull and Dorian both choked on their drinks. Athim blushed furiously. Sera cackled. Solas shrugged again, a faint hint of a flush creeping over his own cheeks.  _ Why had he done that? _ There was no law that said he had to be honest in the game. He glanced suspiciously at his tankard, wondering suddenly what exactly was in it. "I believe that makes it Master Tethras's turn again."

"We skipped you and Athim," Dorian pointed out, still examining him with a surprised eye.

"It's fine, Dorian." Athim's face was still crimson and Solas squeezed her thigh gently, making her giggle uncomfortably.

Varric went on as prompted. "Alright." Never have I ever set someone on fire." Everyone drank. "You're monsters, every one of you." He laughed.

"Never have I ever slept with someone to gain a tactical advantage over them." Dorian announced. Bull and Sera both drank.

"Why do they all have to be about sex?" Athim's blush showed no signs of fading.

"That's what makes it fun, Inky." Sera winked at her.

"What makes it fun," Bull leaned over the table. "Is making people squirm. Never have I ever had a rocky relationship with the people who raised me." Grumbling, Sera drank, along with everyone else, which made Bull laugh. "See this is why the Qun is great."

Upon attempting to drink, Athim had discovered her mug was empty. She pushed to her feet. "Anyone else need a refill?" Solas watched as everyone drained their mugs and pushed them towards her. Dorian waggled his empty bottle at her. With an amused smirk, Athim scooped up all the tankards, holding out a hand for Solas's. He glanced curiously into the mug and realized he had consumed almost the entire contents. He swallowed the last of the alcohol and placed the vessel into her open hand.

As she sauntered away Solas watched her go, noticing with a pleased smile how the swing of her hips accented her voluptuous behind. Turning back to the table he found four sets of eyes and four matching smirks greeting him. A flush rushed over his cheeks and he cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"It is a nice view." Sera volunteered before descending into mad giggles.

"So, Solas." Bull crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair more comfortably. "Enjoying the game?"

"It's been… illuminating, to say the least." He responded with an amused smile.

"Everyone had better watch themselves. The mysterious elf is taking notes to use against us later." Varric quipped. The comment made the hair on Solas's arms stand on end, brushing too close to his own earlier thoughts. The dwarf chuckled and the sound released the sudden tension in Solas's spine.  _ A harmless joke _ . He thought smugly. Varric may have been insightful, but he was not a mind-reader.

"Like a fox." Dorian added.

"More like a raven." Bull corrected with a smirk.

"Nuh-uh. He's a vulture." Sera laughed, turning to Varric she added: "Because he's bald! Get it?"

"I would consider myself more wolf-like." The comment slipped between Solas's lips of its own accord and he wondered again what Athim had given him to drink.

On cue she stepped back up to the table as the group descended into laughter. "Oh a fearsome wolf are you?" She began circling the table, setting mugs in front of everyone. "A Dread Wolf perhaps? Inciter of rebellion in the shadows?"

"Inciter of something in the shadows, most definitely." Dorian said suggestively. Athim slapped his shoulder again, hard enough this time that he winced as she flushed, then set a fresh bottle in front of him.

"He means in her pants." Sera giggled.

"So I need to slap you too?" Athim snapped, but she wore a rosey smile.

"Don't do that." Bull said, eyeing Sera's eager grin. "She'd like you slapping her  _ way _ too much."

Sera stuck her tongue out at him. "Spoil sport. It would have been filthy sexy. You would have liked it."

Bull seemed to consider that. "Damn. I would have."

Laughing Athim returned to her chair, scootching it closer to Solas's before sitting down. Dorian waggled his eyebrows at this and she gave him two fingers, arousing another round of laughter from the table. She slid her hand onto Solas's thigh and smiled up at him, eyes gleaming with alcohol as she took a drink from her mug. "Are you having a good time,  _ Vhenan _ ?"

"I think I might be, yes." He responded with his own slightly tipsy smile. He could feel the alcohol now, buzzing in his head and providing an euphoric glow to the edges of the world. She kissed him unexpectedly, prompting a chorus of howls from the table.

"Don't be jealous," she grinned at them. "Now, who's turn is it?"


	20. The Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Happiness, Success, Optimism, Vitality, Joy, Confidence, Happiness, Truth  
> Reversed: Blocked Happiness, Excessive Enthusiasm, Pessimism, Unrealistic Expectations, Conceitedness

Athim always relished coming home to Skyhold. Of course the Emerald Dales had been beautiful (apart from the giants and bears and tragic revelations regarding the beginnings of the Exalted March against her people) but nothing was as lovely to her as the sunrise from her own bed. She had woken early to watch it, bathed in a tub (a lovely treat which she had never experienced prior to living there), and had set out early to do her usual rounds of the fortress. It was late morning by the time she left the library, stopping to chat with Dorian always took longer than she anticipated, and headed for the mage tower.

"Good morning, my dear." Vivienne's voice caught her off guard and her steps faltered, nearly tripping on the enchanter's beautifully embroidered rug. Vivienne had been cold to her since she had offered the rebel mages an alliance and, to be perfectly honest, the woman intimidated Athim, so the reduced interaction had been a blessing. Vivienne was watching her with a bemused grin and Athim straightened up hastily, self conscious under the woman's gaze. She had already seen her nearly fall on her face and Athim wished for no more similar slip-ups.

"Good morning, Madam Vivienne."

"Haven't I told you before, darling? Just Vivienne is fine." She laughed and the sound was like water cascading into a secluded pool. Athim wondered idly how much she practiced that particular trick.

"Good morning, Vivienne. I hope it's a pleasant one." Athim smiled a bit too wide, attempting to cover her discomfort.

"Oh, my mornings are always pleasant, my dear. You are out for your routine inspection, I take it?" She tucked one hand onto her hip, the movement elegant and effortless. Athim felt woefully clumsy and plain beside her.

"Um, yes. I'm on my way to the mages tower."

Vivienne's smile tightened and Athim had to suppress a flinch at the sudden sharpness in her eyes. She shouldn't have mentioned the mages, it was clearly still a touchy subject.

"How delightful. You'll be sure to give them my regards, won't you?" Vivienne purred, a faint edge of malice disguised in velvet tones.

"Of course," Athim nervously turned her hips towards the exit, torn by her desire to escape the conversation and to not appear rude.

"It's so lovely to chat with you like this, we should do it more often." Her smile reminded Athim of a cat looking down on a mouse. It was abundantly clear Vivienne knew very well how uncomfortable she made Athim and seemed determined to stretch the torture on as long as possible.

“Sure, I mean that would be nice. Maybe I could come by for tea some time?” Athim edged closer to the door by inches.

“Absolutely, my dear. It would be a treat to host you.”

"Before we leave Skyhold again I'll find the time." Athim forced another enthusiastic smile and began to turn away, silently thanking all the gods to be free.

A gleam shimmered through Vivienne's eyes. "Is it my imagination, dear, or have certain... lingering looks passed between you and our Solas?"

Athim stumbled again, mouth going dry.  _ And there it is _ . She thought. Vivienne had no interest in catching up with her or mending bridges, this had always been the end goal of the conversation. She swallowed, trying to remoisten her parched lips. "I- well, I- um, yes. I suppose they have."

“I suppose he is mysterious. That alone can cover many faults in a man, for a time at least.”

Athim’s brows pulled down, the offence Vivienne no doubt sought to inspire beginning low in her gut. “What is  _ that  _ supposed to mean?”

“Hmm?” Vivienne did not feign innocence as well as she did hospitality. “Oh, nothing at all my dear. As long as you’re happy well then that’s all that matters isn’t it?” She turned halfway around. “Just be careful darling. I’d hate to see you be used.”

Athim felt the furrows in her brow deepen and her hands began to unconsciously ball into fists. “You think he’s using me? That’s rich coming from you.” Her anger made her bold, the words escaping unhampered by her anxiety.

Vivienne raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “My dear, do not misunderstand, that is why I am in the best position to be warning you about such things. You are a beautiful, nubile, and naive young woman, Athim.  _ Of course _ he is interested in you, but give him what he wants and that interest may turn elsewhere.”

“You think he—” Athim’s mouth fell open in disgust, outraged on his behalf. “Solas loves me for who I am, not because he wants to deflower me.”

“ _ Love _ ?” Vivienne chuckled, even that coming across as delicate and sophisticated. “Oh my dear girl, they all say that, and I’m sure you think you love him as well. It is a trap.”

“I do not  _ think _ anything. I do love him.” A smile blossomed on her lips as she said the words. She had never said it out loud before. Hearing it, in her voice, made her anger dissipate instantly. It was suddenly comical to her how hard Vivienne was trying to upset her. What did it matter what Vivienne thought of Solas or the two of them together? 

Vivenne’s smug smirk faltered for an instant as Athim’s expression changed. “I’m sure you do dearest. Just keep my warning in mind.”

“I don’t think I will. I think it best you keep your opinions regarding my personal life to yourself going forward,  _ Madam  _ Vivienne, and I’m afraid that I will be far too busy to stop by for tea as it turns out.”

“More’s the pity.” Vivienne’s voice was dry and hard as drought parched earth. “Don’t let me keep you from your duties any longer, dear.” She made a shooing gesture with one dismissive hand, turning back to her balcony.

Athim was happy to let her have the last word, and joyfully extracted herself to the balcony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This to me is the moment where Athim burns her bridges with Vivienne for good, it's also the first time she stands up for herself to the woman.   
> I know this note is unnecessary, but I'm unreasonably proud of my girl in this moment.


	21. Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Self-Evaluation, Awakening, Renewal, Purpose, Reflection, Reckoning  
> Reversed: Self-Doubt, Lack of Self-Awareness, Failure to Learn Lessons, Self-Loathing

He had once told her that titles can alter the way in which we see ourselves, which in turn alters the way we see and interact with the world. This had been accurate, and applicable at the time, but not complete.  _ Every _ experience had that potential, the potential to change who and what a person was; every decision made, every judgement rendered, every person encountered. 

Encountering  _ her _ had fundamentally and irrevocably changed him, for good or for ill. He had lived for so long that he would not have believed it possible that he could be so changed if he had not seen and felt it happening before his eyes. He saw the world, this world which had once seemed so barren and dead to him, differently, because of her. She had shown him that while muted and hidden, magic could still be found. The world became alive for him through her golden eyes. Looking inward, he found his own desires as profoundly confused and wracked with conflict as those of the humans who he had once deemed as miserable and inconsequential. Solas had always known what he wanted, and even if it was difficult he had the will to pursue it with single minded vigor. But then she did the most incredible thing merely by existing, and all the absolutes he thought he knew evaporated like fog in the light of dawn.

“Solas? Did you hear me?”

He blinked, pulling himself back from the deep pools of her eyes. She was smiling at him, a glimmer of timidity in her eye. He had been staring again. For all her beauty and poise, Athim could not accept the reality of her radiance, his desire to simply observe her incomprehensible in her mind. “ _ Ir abelas _ . Say again?”

“I just said that I’d like to visit the Frostback Basin again. Maybe once Corypheus is dealt with.” She laid her head in his lap and his fingers absently busied themselves stroking her hair.

“It is a beautiful place. And the people are fascinating.”

“I’d like to study with the Augur, wouldn’t you?” She looked up at him with a hopeful smile, so many wishes contained in the simple question that Solas felt himself become caught in the ebb and flow of their tide. The image had touched his mind before, in quiet moments before dawn broke or when the sunlight caught her hair just so and the reflection left him dazzled: the two of them, journeying the land, exploring the fade, seeking out ruins and lost history, untroubled by the heavy burdens they both carried. Very rarely the image would shift to a quiet cabin, warmed by fire and the soft sound of children’s laughter. Solas dispelled these images with firm self reminders of his goals and the necessity of his actions. But it became more difficult every time. Now, as he gently pet her hair, her expectant eyes on him, he lost the will to drive off the pleasant daydreams:

Traveling to the Frostback Basin, just the two of them, to meet and learn from the spirits that kept the Avvar's counsel.

Journeying to Tevinter to locate and reclaim lost powers of Arlathan, growing and learning together, sharing the joy of uncovering knowledge lost for milenia.

Telling her the truth, about himself and about her. Shedding the weight he carried and which seemed to grow more heavy with every loving look she cast on him.

Making love under the open sky, clothing and staves tossed away like rubbish in their fervent desire to be closer to one another, her eyes reflecting the moonlight as he held her.

"I believe I would, yes."

Her smile lit the garden brighter than the afternoon sun and his heart tightened, the pressure of countless fathoms pressing down on him, a sea of adoration which, even with his hard earned wisdom, he did not have the ability to comprehend.

Perhaps she was enough.

He could have decades with her. The promise of peaceful, loving years stretched before them. The world had waited for so long, couldn't it wait another fifty, sixty, hundred years? Perhaps with her help he could let go of his anger, his bitterness, the years of resentment which held him so tightly. Her nimble fingers unknotting his heart, her acceptance and understanding loosening the thorns and barbs of past transgressions until the pain of obligation no longer constricted his every breath.

"Perhaps I could tie you some knots while we are there." She sat up, her grin was bold even as she anxiously tugged at her fingertips and apprehension made her voice tremble. "I would tie them very loosely."

" _ Vhenan _ ." The word was an invocation and a plea. He kissed her startled lips and wound his hands into her hair, pulling her closer until she was seated in his lap, her arms encircling his neck, clinging as if she feared being swept away by the gale of his affections. She tasted like the hope which was born with every new sunrise, like the potential of a newly budded fruit tree, like the satisfaction of the first step of a great journey.

Her kiss tasted like his future, and for the first time, that didn't frighten him.


	22. The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: Completion, Achievement, Fulfilment, Sense of Belonging, Wholeness, Harmony  
> Reversed: Lack of Closure, Lack of Achievement, Feeling Incomplete, Emptiness

The sun had begun to set when their camp sprung into existence among the trees and ruins of southern Orlais. Tents pitched and fires stoked, Athim watched as her companions relaxed, everyone eager to not think ahead to what the Arbor Wilds would bring. She sat apart from them on a fallen log, carefully removing and cleaning her armor, and indulging in the rare treat of simply observing rather than leading.

Dorian and Vivienne were chatting, both of them leaning on their staves and watching each other with defensive eyes. Some battle of wits Athim could not hear was well underway, and by their matching smirks the competitors were on even footing. Two mages from vastly different worlds, who once had trusted each other less than the distance they could be thrown, now relaxed and pleased to be sharing the other’s company and witty repartee.

Blackwall and Cassandra stood beside the fire deep in an eyebrow heavy conversation. No, not Blackwall,  _ Thom _ . Thom whom Athim had believed Cass would never speak to again after the truth about who he was and what he had done had been revealed. But there she was, a hint of a smile curling her lips as they discussed, presumably, martial training and a distaste for politics. Thom billowed with pride to be a part of the Inquisition, moreso even than he had been as Blackwall.

Sera and Varric stood on the fringes of the camp. Their backs were to Athim, but she saw the occasional turn of their heads and animated gesturing indicating a conversation in progress. Knowing Varric he was telling her tales of his time in Kirkwall and she was calling it bullshit, but still eager to hear more. She always said he talked too much, but had become so willing to listen.

Bull and Solas sat together, discussing philosophy, as had become almost customary. They didn’t agree, they never would, but they could exchange ideas and attempt to understand each other, gaining new insights from each other’s perspective.

“Once they were different.” Cole said, sitting beside her.

She smiled. “They still are different. Each of them from different worlds.”

“They’re more similar than they were. Stories, separate but interwoven, bound in the same book.”

“Bound by the Inquisition."

"Bound by  _ you _ ."

She glanced at him. He was watching them too, wide eyes seeing much more than she could ever hope to. Her eyes followed his, dancing over each of them, this strange band which had somehow become hers. They had been driven together by the hole in the sky and the chaos of the war. Looking back, she had not anticipated finding companionship, friendship, or love among such ramshackle alliances. She had awoken a prisoner of the Chantry, a lone, terrified Dalish mage in an unfamiliar land surrounded by people who wished her dead or worse. Now it was difficult to imagine who she would be without them.

_ Cassandra _ . The Seeker. A threatening, imposing figure who, at the time, had been the most frightening thing Athim had ever seen. Grudging, slow earned trust had grown into a close knit friendship Athim held closer than near all others. The strongest woman she had ever met, a warrior, a romantic, and, Creators willing, the next Divine.

"Thorns plentiful on the vine of a Nevarran rose. Hard edges protecting a soft heart. You inspire her."

"Me? I inspire Cass?" Athim scoffed. "She is everything I wish I could be."

"Your mercy, your humility, your compassion, they remind her of Andraste. Your friendship is an honor and a badge worth more than any title."

_ Varric _ . The storyteller. The reluctant Andrastian who didn’t believe in shit, but somehow still believed in her. He had been through so much in Kirkwall, his home, a city he felt he had abandoned, but still he stayed. He watched the world continue to crumble around him and he laughed at it. He kept her from falling into her own melancholy too many times to count, and she knew it was the same for the others.

"Stone made stronger by it's cracks. Laughter covering cowardice made of mist. Thank you for bringing Hawke back."

"It was selfish. But I don't regret it. A friend like Hawke is worth the whole world."

_ Blackwall. Thom. _ The Warden who was not a Warden, yet embodied everything it was to be one. He was loyal and humble and had destroyed the man he once was to begin again. It would have been easy to hate him. He had lied to the world, to her, for years. But he was a good man who deserved his redemption.

"Every breath begging for forgiveness, wearing a dead man's honor to replace his own. You found it, wiped away the blood and gave it back. He doesn't know what to do with it yet."

"He will." Athim said with surety.

_ The Iron Bull _ . The one time Ben-Hassrath spy, now Tal-Vashoth. The most up front, honest, passionate individual she had ever known. Love had made him become what he feared, but he didn't change, not really. Bull thought being Tal-Vashoth would mean he lost control, but it had let him take it back. Athim couldn't imagine him without the Chargers at his back, and neither could he.

"Horns pointed up."

"Horns pointed up." Athim repeated with a warm smile.

_ Sera _ . Red Jenny, or a friend of hers at least. Athim hadn’t known what to make of the strange elf who was so unlike an elf and who spoke in riddles, sometimes she still didn't. Like the Jennys, Sera was everywhere at once, a wild card, her strike unpredictable but never underserved. There were some things that she and Athim would never see eye to eye on, but they had become friends despite it, if not to spite it.

"Cookies don't taste like anger anymore. Screaming freedom, untethered except by her own caring heart."

Athim chuckled. "Don't let her catch you saying that. She’d punch you."

_ Vivienne _ . Madame de Fer. They would never be friends, Athim didn't know if Vivienne could be  _ friends _ with anyone. But she was willful in a way only the tested could be. The Grand Enchanter was a force beyond reckoning and Athim had learned to respect the value of it.

"Silver blades gleaming through smiling lips, refusing to be dulled by time or doubt. Hard lessons learned young never forgotten."

"She's definitely cold and sharp, I'll give her that. I think she's finally warming to you."

"She calls me demon less."

"That's something."

_ Dorian _ . The Tevinter mage who had somehow become her best friend and closest confidant. He loved the world and his home and he was willing to fight to make them better. He was unapologetically and ruthlessly himself. Confidant and boisterous where she was awkward and silent, but they shared a certain loneliness, growing up misunderstood and different from their peers.

"Looking out the window of a locked house that is his skin. You broke the door, splintering and cracking the wood with acceptance. Sat with him in his isolation, filled his cup to overflowing."

"There have been many overflowing cups between us." She smirked.

"He did the same for you."

"He did."

_ Solas _ . Even now, gazing on him set her heart fluttering. She didn't know she could love so deeply, didn't know her heart contained such depths. Solas was her past, her present, and her future rolled into one. Challenging, provocative, and absolutely gorgeous. And he loved her. It was unbelievable, like a dream wrapped in a dream which she continually expected to wake from.

"Yes, like a dream. The hazy mirror through which he sees the world. You make it more beautiful.”

"I see it through him too. I never knew how much beauty existed before I knew him."

Darkness had crept upon the camp as they sat together, and the others had condensed around the fire at the center of camp. Athim watched them talking, bickering, and laughing.  _ Just like a family _ . The thought startled her, not with its sudden appearance, but the fact that it had never before occurred to her. Each of them was, in their own way, an orphan, but they had found each other.

"Flowers blossom in a battlefield. Strong against the winds because of their number and their closeness. You all make each other stronger, like a family should."

"You too, Cole." He looked at her, eyes wide with the mix of confusion and curiosity he so often wore. She laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're just as much as part of our strange little Inquisition family as anyone."

_ Cole. _ The forgotten boy. He passed in and out of people's lives like a breath, helping but unnoticed, but he let them notice him. He let them remember him. When he lost his way she helped him find it the best she knew how. She hoped that she had done the right thing.

His face brightened, lit by gratitude. "You did. You helped me be me again. I can help."

From the fire Cassandra made a sound of disgust so loud it carried through the night air to the log where they sat. "Now Seeker, you know that's not what I meant!" Verric's laughter had a panicked undertone.

Athim sighed, giving Cole an apologetic shrug and a pat on the knee, before standing up and marching towards the others as a swell of jeering and goading began. "Alright, knock it off, or I swear to Andraste I'm confiscating everyone's bed rolls."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm emotional. This has been a very emotional challenge for me. I feel incredibly accomplished, I've gained connections to a ton of people I wouldn't otherwise would have, and I've received some of the kindest comments on my writing that I've ever received.  
> I started writing Dragon Age Fanfiction as a way to see my desires granted and it's become this beautiful, multifaceted, integral part of who I am.  
> So like, thanks, for reading the nonsense I write.


End file.
